


We Could Be Heroes

by Jupiterra



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1980's Super Hero Setting, Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Asexual Character, F/F, GENERAL WINTER GONNA GET YALL, I'm Sorry, I'm just telling you how it ended in the last chapter., Lars is a badass, Luxembourg be crazy pants, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Snow Puff Ivan, Soviet Union, Spoilers, The Cow Survives, Toris is tired old man, Violence, people die, war references, yay warrior lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-03-05 09:22:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 42,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18825784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jupiterra/pseuds/Jupiterra
Summary: A 1980′s tale of Ivan Braginsky as he escapes the soviet union to become a registered hero. Alfred, an USA agent with powers of his own, is determined to not let Ivan steal the limelight.





	1. Born of Winter

Ivan knew from his first memories, he was always a little different. Maybe it was the purple eyes. A gift of god, his grandmother would say. His incredible height as he grew, only to reach for loftier goals his mother would swear. His unusual strength, only to pull the family ahead of other local farmers. So his sisters would promise.

Life was good as it could get in the rural soviet union. They had warm clothing, food, and a small wooden shack of a home amidst the snowy wastes. In the spring and summer, however brief it was, they harvested turnips and carrots, beets and cabbage. They hunted elk and sable in the distant forest edges. It was enough to survive the winter and trade with their equally isolated neighbours.

Most important of all, Ivan was never ever to go to the city. His family forbade him, telling him of the city demons and ghosts. The curses of tell-a-vision, war, and famine that haunted grey concrete buildings shaped like tombstones. Ivan was a good boy, a smart boy. So he always stayed behind on the family farm. He always guarded the property from roaming wolves, bears, and bandits.

It wasn't like these things were challenges. By the time Ivan was sixteen, he was strong enough to bend iron. The aging family steer no longer pulled the plow, Ivan handed the new honour. His baby sister Natalia would be sitting on his broad shoulders as he plowed, throwing seeds and fertilizer behind them. It was a simple life. It was a boring life.

Ivan craved input from the outside world. Through his very thorough homeschooling, he understood this life was not normal. Other children had friends that were not farm animals. Other children went to real schools and played games. Other children watched moving pictures on magic devices plugged into living room walls. Ivan wanted these things, for he craved the unknown.

On the eve of Ivan's eighteenth birthday, it was a rather quiet affair. A small honey cake and two new pairs of overalls from the city was presented. There was a song of sorts. Ivan offered a smile and thanked his family for the gifts.

“You hardly touched your cake.” Mama fussed over him lovingly, requiring a step stool to do so. He was getting so tall, Ivan's head now scraped the ceiling of their hand built home.

“You must try on your new clothes! You will look so cute!” Grandmother insisted, rocking in her fire side chair with knitting needles. Ever since Papa had died in a blizzard a few years ago, it was just the five of them now. With the nearest neighbour an hour away by oxen, it was becoming rather quiet.

His big sister Katya was only larger than him in age. She didn't need the step stool to ruffle his hair. She too had inherited Father's unnatural height. It was a general consensus that Papa had been very tall and unnatural, adamant about fleeing direct soviet influence. Little sister Natalia was humorously short like Mama and Grandmother. She was like a badger, making up for it in sheer ferocity. There was no doubt she would be the head of the family when Mama passed.

“I... will try them on.” Ivan conceded with false cheer, only to please them. Stooping slightly these days, he took both pairs of overalls to the general sleeping room. They were obviously the largest sizes Mama could find, which was then altered by hand to fit his muscular frame.

Returning to the common room, Ivan did a stooped twirl for his audience of four. “Very nice.” “So handsome.” “He's our man!” the women cheered, in their own subtle Russian ways.

“Thank you. Thank you.” Ivan replied, sitting on the floor to relieve his posture of leaning forward. Finally, he ate the honey cake in two bites. Ivan's appetite was legendary, the main reason they expanded the family farm in recent years. “Very good.”

His family was content to hide from howling winter outside, hands warmed by the primitive stone fireplace. Ivan was not. He was unhappy in a way he couldn't place. He desired... more. There had to be more. With a sigh, he stood again. “I will check the barn and make sure the animals are warm.”

“Bring back some wood my sunflower.” Mama ordered absently, lit by golden fire light.

“Yes Mama.” Shrugging on his thick bear skin coat, an extra pair of pants was donned. Ivan then pulled on his boots from the city along with three pairs of worn mittens. Lastly, Katya's beloved scarf was wrapped to guard his face. Ready to do battle with the elements, Ivan grabbed Father's old soviet rifle. They still had one box of bullets, but it would have to last a few weeks. Shots would be sparing if none until then.

The front garden fence was still intact, not snapping from the weight of it's icy mantle. There was that at least. Trudging with no effort through knee high snow, Ivan approached the barn. After using the water stained butt of the gun like a shovel, enough snow was cleared. The doors could open for Ivan to squeeze inside. Gingerly closing the door behind him, Ivan felt around in the dark. Finally locating the oil lamp, he lit it and peered about.

In the flicker of weak firelight, all three cows were fine. They mooed at Ivan, dressed in colourful blankets with tassels. The livestock needed coats to survive the deadly winters. “Marya, Annika, you look healthy.” Ivan spoke, uncaring if he sounded insane. He was crushingly lonely.

“Moo.” The third cow complained, always a pessimist. It had modified ear warmers tied to it's head knitted with care by Grandmother.

“Now Marina, you need those to stop the frostbite.” Ivan chided, setting down his rifle to spread fresh hay stored in the attic.

“Moo!” Marina once more objected, shaking her shaggy black head. She wasted most of her day trying to rub the ear warmers off despite needing them. The other cows perked up at food appearing, wandering over to the less poo covered half of the barn. Ugh. Ivan had to clean things up again. It was a daily chore he was regularly stuck with. Sometimes he felt like he was the only one running the place.

Twenty horrible minutes later, the barn was fairly clean. Ivan huffed and wiped his sweaty brow, going outside to cool off. He also needed to gather snow he could melt into water for the cows. They were probably very thirsty.

Melting snow meant fire. Fire meant firewood, ugh, _firewood_. Yet more yard work. With a frustrated huff, he locked up the barn and plowed on to the distant forest edge. Gun slung over a shoulder, it almost looked like a toy in Ivan's grand stature. Grumbling and complaining under his breath, Ivan made good time to his next task.

“Vanya, get the fire wood. Vanya, lift the boulder. Vanya, plow the field. Vanya, Vanya, Vanya.” He mocked his grandmother's voice, but not too loudly, for she might magically hear it. With no friends to talk to, Ivan resorted to ranting at the local landscape. “What if _Vanya_ wants to have some fun? What if I want to see the city?”

The white squalls of cutting wind picked up as Ivan trudged along. In forethought and planning, Ivan had dragged massive boulders in a line leading to the house. This old set up ensured he wouldn't get lost in blizzards... as much.

Leaning against a rock to adjust his bear skin snow suit, Ivan took the time to empty snow out of the gun barrel. Amidst the howling wind, a sound feared in nature rang out. Gunshots were coming from the house. Grandmother was generally armed to the teeth, so hearing her retaliate was terrifying.

Heart thundering, Ivan ran with fear along the rock line home. The worsening weather cut visibility down fiercely. Two more gunshots rang out, followed by shrill screaming. There was nothing for it now. Ivan would have to jump and hope the landing wasn't too rough. Due to his absurd strength, uncontrolled bursts of effort typically had severe consequences.

Adrenaline thumping, Ivan aimed himself where the house _should_ be, then gave himself a running start. Pushing off the ground with all his strength, he soared through the air in a large arc. The flight was quick to end, the blinding whiteness around him gaining form. A dark shape forming directly below him loomed closer. His words of fear were ripped away by the wind.

“No not the house! No not the house! Please! Please! Please! Not the house! FUCK PLEASE, NOT THE –” Ivan landed with the force of a small bomb, mere metres from the barn. The old structure was only ten metres from the house, which would have been obliterated by the landing. The barn trembled violently from the impact... then promptly collapsed.

Marina the black cow emerged out from the ruins with a shrug of her nearly one ton body, ear warmers and all. “MOO!” she uttered in urgency, confused.

Unknown male voices drew Ivan's attention from his own destruction. “What is that!?” “Is that the asset!?” “I'm not paid enough for this!” Six men in soviet army fatigues were in the snow drowned yard, their individual snow mobiles not far away. They had the same colours as Papa's old uniform, signifying they were special forces. They all looked terrified at Ivan's appearance, garbed in an entire bear of fur. 

It took only an instant to see Katya was held hostage at gun point. Mama and Grandmother sobbed noisily as they clutched a bleeding Natalia. “Kill... them... all...” Natalia gasped weakly, her ten year old body dark with its own blood through several layers.

“YOU SHOT MY SISTER!” Ivan thundered, beginning to cry as he grew enraged. It was clear Natalia was bleeding too quickly to survive.

The unknown men had four rifles trained on the women, while two were pointed at Ivan's generous centre of mass. “Don't move, don't resist, or we will kill the others. You are coming with us!”

Grandmother was the first to strike, just as furious as her grandson. “YOU SHOT MY BABY! YOU SHOT MY NATASHA! MY VANYA WILL DESTROY YOU!” she screamed in retribution, head butting her captor despite being tied up. Mama also kicked at his shins while Katya bit him on the face. The distraction was enough to throw off the squad of killers a few seconds. It was a few seconds too long.

Ivan's rage was burning hot as he lunged forward. Bullets bounced off his body like pine cones dropping from trees. He was going to kill them all, crush them, destroy them. No one killed his baby sister. The family couldn't risk any injury, since they were days from any health care clinic.

Ivan punched one man, his bones heard breaking from inside his snow clothes. The men next to him was flung so hard, he simply shot in a straight line toward the heavens. His screaming trailed off with him. The remaining two not firing at Ivan had his family at gun point. In all the chaos and gunfire, their hostage threats were lost. The two monsters looked at each other, then fired.

Mama fell to the snow, red splattering white like spring flowers. Grandmother, already suffering injury, simply went slack and slumped to the side. The sight was seared into Ivan's emotional tunnel vision. His next scream was visceral, inhuman, as it pierced the winds.

“ **MAMA!** ”

Ivan couldn't much recall his shock induced actions after that. His world had been destroyed. He only stopped when his exhaustion set in. All five men's remains were just bloody smears in the frozen earth. Two of the snow mobiles had been destroyed while being used as weapons. Katya, only slightly injured, had skulked away with the cow to avoid the destruction.

It took twenty minutes of sobbing and wailing before Ivan could even be approached. Eventually, Katya's mitten covered touch rubbed his shoulder in soothing circles. “Vanya. We must leave this place. It is no longer safe.”

“I... I do not... know what to do... Mama... Mama is... dead. Grandmother...” Ivan cried pitifully, a shell of a man. He sucked in cold winter air and sat, rocking himself.

“No!” Katya scolded, slapping him hard on the wind reddened cheek. “No time for sadness! We must survive to uphold Papa's legacy!” As she scolded him, her own tears spilled from blue eyes.

After a few hiccuped breaths, Ivan swallowed and wiped his face with a coat sleeve. “Where... where do we go?”

Katya hugged him in comfort, unable reach around completely. He was like a living tank. “The one place the soviets hate the most. Where they have no power.” Ivan cuddled her, knowing exactly what she meant.

It was time to flee to the United States of America.


	2. Agent Golden Boy

Being a hero was serious business. You needed fitness, for flagging down running suspects. You needed smarts, to survive traps and solve problems. Most all, you needed pure dumb luck stop from getting shot at. Toris had discovered this early in his FBI career, determined to make use of his own powers. He was after all, immune to most other powers. Toris could stand in a fire and feel nothing. Sure, it was useful as a domestic or civil skill. 

Boy did it make for a bad super power though. After pulling off a few FBI funded stunts and getting his ass handed to him, Toris hung up his hero cape for good. Between the danger, the lack of intelligence, and those itchy goddamn tights, the gig was not worth it. Heroes were needed in this world though. As long as terrorists roamed America, Toris felt possessed to do something about it. That was why he joined the FBI in the first place.

Thus, he became the first director of the Superhuman Crime Fighting Division, New Jersey branch. The ungainly title was usually reduced to “Scuff”, although it didn't really match the acronym. Once Homeland security found out there was a new terrorist fighting department, the budget exploded. Toris's former rental room was now a secret base disguised as a post office. There was a real post office operating inside, to add to the layers of secrecy.

Once the US postal system got involved, the media followed like the plague. Homeland security and military sponsors more than approved. Flashy heroes were better moral models... supposedly. They encouraged children to get law based careers, and pushed the American dream harder than ever. Only one man disagreed.

Toris liked when the department had been smaller in 1976. It was now 1987, only a year after the frenzied nonsense of the Cuban missile crisis. Red terror was still rather high, though not as blinding as  
the paranoia riddled 60's and 70's. To be honest, the USSR was started to look a little... crumbly at the edges. Still, all of USA was sharp to stomp the communists. The reds could pop up anywhere.

This was exactly why Toris hated the semi glamorous nature of heroes these days. Before his desk, lounging in a chair, was the product of the perfect storm named “Scuff”.

Alfred Freedom Jones, formerly Alfred Foster Kirkland-Bonnefoy, was a blonde super model of a man with lithe form and generous freckles. His glossy gold hero costume was studded with all American stars and stripes, doubling as basic body armour. He was grace and power, a perfect crime fighting machine.

Alfred was also a vain insufferable jack ass. His hero handler was his own twin brother, the only guy that could stand him longer than twenty minutes. Still, the glitter covered tool had his uses to Director Toris. He was exceptionally good at capturing other superhuman targets.

“What you need of my _amazingness_ , director?” Alfred greeted and bloated simultaneously, terrible like usual.

“There's a bogey at the Estermann Docks. It will be arriving in an hour.” Toris cut right to the point, hanging Agent Jones the papers.

After a quick read of the first page, Alfred set the three papers down. “Is there a visual?”

“No. Its two, possibly three, subjects from Soviet Russia. Definitely one man and one woman of remarkable height. The UN has already been notified.”

Alfred sat up ramrod straight at the mention of Russians involved. His own father and one of his partners had been murdered by Russian spies only two years prior. Endangerment of those you loved was a risk of serving your country. “Are they superhuman?” Alfred demanded.

“Yes, just... Jones, this is a recovery mission. We need to question them upon arrival. You can't kill any of them.”

Alfred frowned, crossing his arms in pouting manner. “Ruskies killed my dad. I'm not going to let them walk into the greatest country on earth, and take a great big communist shit on it.”

“Agent Jones, _control_ yourself.” The order was spoken softly, but the words had the impact of a speeding car. Alfred knew not to fuck with Toris, the one man immune to almost all powers. Alfred directed his boyishly blue eyes to the floor, muttering a few curses. 

Finally Alfred obeyed. “Yes. Sir.”

Toris looked down to his impending paperwork again. “You are dismissed. Report to Felix for gear checkout.” Alfred's irritable mumbles were barely perceptible as he practically stomped out of the office. The agent was largely unmanageable, a complete brat. Toris could only hope the picturesque blonde would succeed.


	3. Waterside Conversations

Alfred was perched atop a warehouse roof with a pair of old school binoculars. Due to his rampant powers he wasn't really allowed to have anything electrical. He could manipulate magnetic properties of both himself and metal objects of his choosing. Be it ripping apart or reforming metal to his will, Alfred was a golden god.

The only slight downside was Alfred passively fried any electronics or batteries he touched. No phones, no TV, and barely any electric lighting. That was... fine. Alfred didn't miss going to diners with his admirers, or shopping in malls... or seeing movies on fun _dates_. Because he wasn't lonely, and he was _fine_ , and that was that.

Swallowing that little moment, Alfred focused himself. He had a mission at hand. After twenty more minutes of camping out on the hot metal roof, his prey appeared. By and large, the target was not subtle.

A massive tanker vessel docked, laden with shipping containers on the broad flat top. Alfred extended his electromagnetic senses to brush over the ship. He could sense most of the containers were probably empty. If these commie bastards were bringing anything, it certainly wasn't a missile or other metallic weapons.

Alfred was torn from his distanced examinations by a horrendous tearing of steel. One of the upper containers was peeled open like it was foil by a single person. Holy shit. Some of that steel was an inch thick. There was no doubt this was superhuman territory. Finally, a reason to beat the shit out of something without killing it.

Excited, Alfred raised his binoculars and looked closer. The man that peeled metal like it was a candy wrapper was just so bizarre. He was dressed in a bear skin, overalls, and a dirty white shirt. The woman next to him was just as alien, wearing a traditional red dress burning with brightly coloured beads. Strangest of all, a shaggy black cow was with them. It was much like the woman, decorated with tassels and ribbon.

Alfred strained to read their lips, but couldn't pick up anything sensible. Damn their communist bastard language! Due to frying his phone, Alfred had no means of contacting headquarters. He would have to say hello to the interlopers himself. 

Strengthening the magnetic polarity of himself in relation to surrounding metal structures, Alfred took flight. His public persona “Golden Boy” was partially sponsored by beer companies, but he had a near limitless monthly budget because of it. The beer's logo, a golden eagle, was rather fun to emulate, even if the name was terrible.

The metal shipping container the invaders appeared from suddenly shredded from Alfred's will. Representing an eagle, as per contract requirement, it then enveloped the man, woman and cow safely in a perfect metal cage. Mission accomplished! Now Alfred had to wait for the FBI or the SCFD to show up and things would be just dandy. Another round of praise from work, another dose of positive media love.

Until he wasn't going to. The bear guy looked at the cage with child like wonder as Alfred flew closer, testing the bars. He then torn the cage apart with ease. It might as well be tissue paper. Contracts be damned! Alfred didn't have time for theatrics anymore. “Stop in the name of the law!” he shouted, stealing the shredded metal with a motion of hands. The entire cage was now a revolving serpent of metal around Alfred's floating form.

Like _hell_ Alfred Freedom Jones was going to lose his perfect capture record! He directed the living serpent of metal around the weird bear dressed guy, binding him in place. The guy, that goddamn ash blonde, he laughed. After a moment of giggles, the invader pushed his way out of pure steel bindings and landed gracefully on the ship deck below. The woman, still stuck on top of a container, clapped in delight. The disinterested cow mooed, somehow mockingly.

“I am going to fill you so full of fucking steel, you shit tetanus!” Alfred roared, now pissed. His glorious work record would not be stained by some soviet bumpkin in rain boots and dirty overalls! 

Recalling all the shipping container bits, Alfred coated his body in three inch thick steel. His new protective battle form was studded with sharp shrapnel, a vague humanoid shape. Using his electromagnetic senses, Alfred knew where his new nemesis stood via interruptions in the energy field. After a week of constant work bullshit, it was going to feel so good to pummel a super villain.

The most terrifying thing in the world happened. The weird guy casually walked over, and brushed off metal spikes with strength alone. The worst realization ever struck Alfred. He couldn't capture this guy alone. The guy parted metal like it was butter. With no new partners since Romano was brutally shot, the cocky agent was fucked. Well and truly fucked.

Alfred's breathing shuttered as the strong man peeled his protective casing away. It was clearly not much effort to the guy about to kill him. Bright daylight flooding in, Alfred looked upwards and stared the stranger hard in the eyes. Damn, them things were _really_ purple!

The last words before his demise were spoken. The guy had a surprisingly high voice for a dude well over six feet tall. “Privet!” This strange word was accompanied by a rather friendly wave.

“Uh... Hi?” Alfred replied, waving back awkwardly. He released the bonds of the metal, his useless battle form falling around him into neat piles.

The man, whom smelled something foul, gestured to his companions still stuck two stories up. He asked... something. Alfred had no idea what it was. After a frustrated face palm, the guy inclined one hand like a slope, then walked the other hand up it like... like... stairs! The guy wanted to get his girl off the top of the shipping containers!

Cluing in, Alfred formed the metal scraps into a perfectly square platform. It floated just off the ground, a convenient elevator. Alfred stepped on it and looked back in annoyance, gesturing upwards. The stinky bastard hesitated, then stepped on. He then sat on the platform to lower his base of gravity. Floating up to the stranded crew, they stepped on gratefully. The cow took a bit of tugging, but relented and joined it's owners.

Just as the four landed on the docks, a well known voice entered his head. ' _I didn't know you could be diplomatic._ ' Alfred's brother intruded telepathically, as per usual.

“Goddamn it you know how much I hate your mind probe shit.” Alfred complained to open air, letting the platform just sit on the ground as a fused block. Someone would pick it probably.

' _I'm a block away. How's the battle?_ ' Mattie chatted anyway.

“None. I think...” Alfred looked back at the weirdos, raising a brow. “I think they're lost illegal tourists or something. They talk commie, or whatever.” The weird man looked amazed by all the big ships, while the ash blonde woman began tearing grass out of nearby asphalt cracks. The cow took immediate interest and grazed on anything tufting up from a world of grey.

' _Try not to startle them, I'm almost at the –_ ' Alfred cut off his twin brother and legal handler by slipping on his gold crown. It was forged from a very rare African metal, capable of blocking most telepathic attacks. Alfred exclusively used it to piss off his gifted smart ass brother. He actually had grudging respect for his sibling. Telepathic powers while being an FBI agent was an insane combination.

It was time to get this mess with Mr. Stinky and his girl cleaned up.


	4. Stars In The Dark

The ride back to SCFD headquarters was bizarre. Telepathic, Matthew could skim the surface thoughts of others easily. He could derive the imagery and function behind words, no matter the language. In this limited sense, Matthew was a passable universal translator. It didn't mean he enjoyed the job.

For one thing, their strange bearskin wearing visitor was filthy. His odour was powerful, telling not only of a long ship ride, but a lifetime of bad habits. The busty woman was much better, but purely due to perfumes and evidence of baking soda. The glossy black cow, lovingly cared for, was honestly the most hygienic of the three interlopers. It was finally happy as it mowed through hay. The heavy beast was being hauled to the base in a livestock trailer not far behind.

Skimming thoughts of everyone in the car, a real conversation could take place. The two obvious Russians were in the back, while Matthew and his latest armed chaperone sat up front. “Excuse me, where are we?” the busty woman asked in heavily accented Russian. Her decorated dress jingled slightly with the slightest movements.

There was something... strange about her. Matthew could feel her prickling mental influence, like a soft yet crushing blanket. He swept it away easily. The driver seemed to not be doing as well, blushing something indecent. The brother was apparently oblivious to whatever his sibling exuded. They were related after all. The hair, unusual eyes, and general behaviour were total giveaways.

' _You have arrived in the United States of America._ ' Matthew informed them telepathically, mouth still. He rarely talked at all, to be honest. Being a dedicated FBI agent was a lonely lifestyle.

“Oh little Vanya! We survived! Is this not a great joy?” The woman cheered.

“Maybe America has baths, and food. I feel gross.” the hulking brother replied, barely fitting in the back seat. He bumped his head every time the car drove over a pot hole.

' _We can provide such things if you are co-operative._ ' Matthew assured, looking back.

“I will be more than helpful for a loaf of bread... and a roast chicken. Cakes. Does America have cakes? I want cakes.” The one called 'Vanya' rambled, clearly hungry.

“Do not be rude! I am sure we can bake cakes once we help this magic wizard.” Katya chided, slapping a bicep the size of her curvy waist.

As lovely as the conversation was, the reek of body odour was more repelling. It was a relief to get out of the car. Matthew bolted out the second it was parked at the false government post office. After a deep breath of fresh air, he turned to retrieve his guests. A peppy Felix and older Toris of all people were there to stop him.

“Agent Williams, follow me.” The director himself ordered, looking quite tired. The aging brunette always looked tired these days. There was rumours abound that the very first director would have to retire soon. Matthew feared for that day in a world of hate and political chaos. Toris was the most neutral man Matthew ever had the luxury to serve thus far.

“But...” Matthew only protested slightly, beginning to follow.

“Felix will speak with our latest captures. He is more than capable in Russian.” Toris assured, walking along in slightly limping gait. There was rumours of how the man became injured, each more wild than the last.

Through halls and doors, secret elevators and darkened corners. The two travelled to the sub levels of the department. The most unruly and angry captures resided here. The FBI occasionally stopped by to alleviate the prison load or drag unrepentant monsters off to execution.

Without exception, Matthew hated being here. He could feel the mental impressions of the prisoners, stains of poison on his brain. There was so much hate here, it was unbearable. “Sir, with all due respect, why am I here?” Matthew asked out loud, since the director was immune to telepathy.

Walking past rows of glossy white prison cells, Toris never stopped walking. “Can you sense it Williams? Among all this hate, there is something special. Our psychic division informed me we have a new hero recruit.”

Matthew paused only a second, curious. His vast mind swept over the toxic sea of the sub level. Greens of envy, reds of rage, blacks of suicidal intent. They formed a dirty brown pit of everything wrong with society. In these emotional ruins, there was a point of pale blue brilliance. Regret and longing for redemption. One of the prisoners wanted to change for the better.

Eager, Matthew looked to his superior. “Please, I'm ready to meet them.”

“I thought you would enjoy the project. We'll be moving you from babysitting Jones, at least for now.” Toris stopped before a barred cell, gesturing to the lone inhabitant. “Welcome to your new training partner.”

Matthew looked over curiously, then balked. “No. No, no I won't.”

It was that tall devil, black eye patch over one of his green eyes. In white prisoner uniform, the blonde menace was picking away with his fingers on a black violin. It was the man that shorted out the eastern seaboard power grid for two minutes several years ago. It was only two minutes to some, but to others... Over one thousand died from the shut off, be it life support failure or accidents.

“Not happy to see ol' Maelstrom?” The prisoner greeted, fond of his old identity.

“You are a monster!” Matthew yelled, reaching inside a coat pocket for his gun. He was paused in his actions by a mere touch from his boss.

“Now, both of you behave. Mr. Van Den Berg is up for parole, and I think he has great potential as an agent within the SCFD.” Toris went on, as if he wasn't about to release a mass murderer.

“A hero you mean.” Maelstrom sneered sarcastically in Dutch accent English. “I think you missed the mark, _Immuno Man_.”

The Director was not pleased at his failed hero career being dragged up. “Of course, with all your family in prison or dead... Who else would possibly employ you?” The man's voice was knowledgeable, yet so very cold. Toris likely held something over the dastardly villain.

Maelstrom glared only a moment, but submitted. His unhappy gaze shifted downward after ghosting over Matthew's government issue suit. “Fine. At least I'll be out long enough to drink.” he muttered brokenly.

With a swipe of the Director's card and a ten number code, the bars swung open. Lars Van Den Berg, indirect killer of over one thousand people, was free to serve the New Jersey area. Matthew had simultaneously gained a partner and become a parole officer at the same time.

God help him.


	5. He's Got Chemistry

Ivan had come to understand a lot about of things about the United States of America. After all, he had been here three weeks. The super hero people had been just as kind as they promised. Once Ivan turned in Father's locked case of Soviet science papers, they gave him everything a man could need. That is, they gave him everything but work.

Ivan was a born and raised farm boy. He needed things to do, stuff to pull, objects to lift. A day wasn't complete without some level of pointless toiling. Just sitting around between language lessons was going to make him fat. That S... SCF... SCFD? Surely those guys had _something_ he could do.

Living only a block from the strange government base that welcomed him, a plan was set. Ivan looked about his sparse apartment one last time. It was so... empty in the city. This place lacked beauty to the lonely male. No, Ivan just needed to make more friends. Friends fixed everything!

That gold man really seemed to like him. The literal wizard of scrap metal had made Ivan birds, snakes, and even a big square to impress him. It sure as hell worked. Was this some kind of strange superhuman flirtation? The thought was not an unpleasant one. Agent Jones was certain handsome, as magnetic as his powers. Yes, Ivan should go bug Agent Jones!

The impressively tall Slav changed course as he walked along the cracked sidewalks. He diverted to the private scrap yard nearby. It was nothing more than a glorified garbage bin for the SCFD, only metal and some rubbers deposited. In this sprawling two acre lot, Alfred spent most of his time. The guy fried so many magic Elect-tron-ics, he wasn't allowed to live in a regular apartment. How sad.

Ivan would cheer him up! In five short minutes he stood at the edge of the junk yard. There was a eight foot tall chain link fence, topped with barbed wire. Many signs were around the only gate. Ivan took the time to translate one with his language book.

“Kee... Keep. Out.” Ivan sounded out the English word, it's vowels alien on his tongue. Huh, Ivan wasn't supposed to enter. Maybe there was another misunderstanding. Ivan tried another sign.

“In... Intruder. Intruders. Wi... Will. Have. Bah... Balls cut. Off.” Ivan sounded out words painfully, flipping through his translator book. After looking up everything a third time, It still didn't make sense. Ivan did not have a soccer ball growing off him. If he did, he would be relieved to get it removed. People were not supposed to have soccer balls attached to them.

Well, that was as good of an invitation as any. Ivan tore a hole in the fence and walked through. “Alfret!” Ivan called out, severe Russian accent changing the hard D to a soft T. “Alfret! I bored!”

This place was kind of... disgusting. There was rusty scrap metal all over, puddles of wet mud on the ground. New Jersey rain had rinsed oil and mystery sludge into thin lines in the dirt. This was no way to live. “Alfret!” Ivan yelled again, all but one corner explored. Turning past a pillar of mutilated Cadillacs, a solid metal shack was spotted. Ivan instantly recognized it as one of Agent Jones's creations. Excited, Ivan rushed over and knocked on the silver door. It fell over from the force. Oops.

Ivan looked in and saw something most terrible. It was the golden man, looking not so golden. The tanned blonde was rosy from drink and clearly crying his eyes out. He was hugging a photo album to his chest, in summer shorts and a tank top. Prone on a metal bed softened with many blankets, the guy was a mess.

Ivan liked to think he was a good people person. He approached the inebriated man in careful steps. It was not that far from dealing with cows. Alfred babbled slurred English at him, clearly disturbed. Ivan paused, waiting to see if the other would grow violent. He did not.

With ginger care, Ivan nodded dumbly and sat next to Alfred. The drunk took this as genuine understanding. Agent Jones flopped the photo album open to a practised page, barely able to sit up. He babbled more through thick tears, looking up to seek confirmation.

Right. English, the thing Ivan did not know yet. “Alfret.” Ivan purred, giving the grieving bastard a gentle pat. It seemed to do the trick. Alfred calmed considerably, resting against Ivan's muscular side. The heat of this place was impressive enough that Ivan was also in a sleeveless shirt.

This was going well, it felt healthy enough. In an adventurous mood, Ivan pulled the mess of a drunk on his lap and hugged him affectionately. Oh, this was _nice_. This was more than nice. It was rather surprising that Alfred did the next logical thing. The stink of booze wafted off the smaller man as he pulled Ivan's face closer...

In a delicate second of time, Alfred kissed him on the lips. It was... It was wonderful. Warmth squirmed in Ivan's gut as he pressed back, swept up in the moment. The Russian had never been so thrilled in his life, and he had no words for it. Alfred broke contact only to breathe and say some sort of nonsense, coloured from blushing. Ivan didn't care. He wanted more of those goddamn kisses right this second. Ivan easily got his way, a horny Alfred squirming on his lap as they consumed each other.

At least Ivan wasn't bored anymore.


	6. Top Female Form

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hungary's name is Ezra.

Ezra Héderváry was a force of nature, a weapon of the gods. She hailed from an isolated warrior tribe deep in the highest Hungarian Mountains. She had travelled every continent as an elite warrior, proficient with over six fighting styles. Ezra had wrestled bears, fought demons, and survived to boast of it. She was a warrior goddess among mere men and children.

This positive attitude was exactly why Ezra despised the SCFD these days. It was turning into a complete clown show. The latest recruit, a genetic monster from Soviet Russia, was a prime example of lacking discipline. Ivan had such great strength, but it was wasted in his oafish movements. The idiot couldn't even wield a sword or spear effectively like a real male.

Director Toris, a noble and chivalrous warrior in the past, was the only respectable male in the joint. He was wise from years of battle, and still quite capable of defending himself. The man's knife work and marksmanship was deadly. Ezra would know, as his personal trainer twice a week.

Today was another work out, an intimidating Ezra in sacred tribal training gear. It was hide of the mightiest bear to bestow her it's spiritual strength. Eagle feathers adorned her braided brown hair, shed by the highest soaring eagle. Lest the holy creature bless her with it's grace. Finally, there was her spear. It was just a spear, but it was terrifyingly sharp.

Toris bounced on his heels opposite her, warmed up and stretched. The man took longer these days, soon to be entering his forties. Despite all this, Ezra only wished the best for her dual employer. He would be the most dangerous forty-something on the planet. “I'm... I'm ready.” he said softly, never one to yell. He generally didn't need to, which made him more honourable.

Ezra was merciless, laughing in glee as she charged. Toris, armed with nothing but a metal tipped staff, managed to block her first cutting strike. “Your reflexes are getting faster. You are doing the awareness training I see.”

“Yes.” Toris grunted, barely dodging a trip attempt and two more slashes of the spear. “I've been taking the vitamins, but I can't do the weight lifting. It's –” Toris stopped only to duck and trip Ezra in return. He failed, but he managed to tap her armoured ankle. That was basically a win for the older man. “... It's too damn heavy.”

“The tree will not survive the storm if it does not face the wind as a sapling!” Ezra berated him, stopping a strike a mere inch from Toris's face. The man, huffing from his efforts, put his hands up in surrender. He then sat to catch his breath. The guy was getting old, and Ezra was the most skilled warrior around. Lasting only 8 seconds was entirely forgivable.

“Take a five minute break, then we will finish up with ten minutes on the exercise bike.” The fit brunet ordered, dabbing her own tanned brow and biceps free of sweat.

The Director groaned in relief, limping slightly to retrieve his water bottle. “Work has been so terrible. I think, once Ivan gets up to speed, he can be an agent partner to Jones. They're both so... excitable.”

“Destructive and untrained, you mean.” Ezra muttered, openly disapproving of most agents.

The Director edged around the subject tactfully. “They're more suited to TV appearance incidents. Ivan's sister is hard to place though. Felix and Loki can't get a good fit for her.”

Ezra paused and looked at him curiously. Ivan had a sister? Was she as oafish as her brick for brains brother? The silent query was answered by a rather embarrassed Toris. “She, um, has the powers of love. It's been troublesome for the office.”

“Love?” Ezra scoffed, “With all due respect, is that even possible?”

“Myself, Agent Williams, and Agent Loki appear to be the only ones not affected at this point.” Toris confessed, scraping his hair back into a neat ponytail.

“It can't be that bad.” The amazonian warrior dismissed the claims. In a stunning display of bad timing, a woman stumbled into the gym. She was taller than Ezra, almost pale as snow. Her long hair was a mess, obviously not finished being groomed. The rather _ample_ creature looked out of breath and terrified.

“You have to hide me!” she sputtered in panicked Russian, still clutching a hair brush. Familiar with five languages, Ezra had no problem understanding the distressed woman.

“Stand aside maiden. I will disperse the attackers.” Ezra announced heroically, assuming battle pose with her spear. The ash blonde thanked her profusely, scuttling of to hide behind an exercise bike.

A swarm of office workers, mostly men, burst through the semi-open doors. “Lady! I love you, I wrote you a song!” “Please marry me! I'll give you my house!” “I only want to shake your hand!” “Let me stand near you!” Slavering dogs without wit, they were flush as if drunk. They were addled by infatuation, uncaring of the madness they advertised. One man went on bent knee, beginning a terrible Spanish serenade. “Oh lady, oh lady, woman that I love –” The guitar was ripped out of his hand and broken over his head.

“ **THIS ROOM IS BEING USED AS A SACRED SPACE FOR THE TRAINING OF WAR! LEAVE OR PERISH!** ” Ezra thundered, literally throwing one love struck fool out of the room. 

The crowed gasped, one worker screaming in English. “Its Lady Justice! Run!” The mob scattered as fast as it had formed. The hyper focused brunette had earned a rather burning reputation as a man hater. Ezra was also horrendous during TV interviews. She didn't even have a sponsor anymore, unlike most heroes. She sometimes had to sleep at work when money was tight.

After discovering her Nike providers used child labour to make her merchandise, Ezra lost it. The warrior priestess went on a six month long reign of terror in China, freeing slave children from factories. The American white house had to apologize on her behalf to prevent a war. Ezra still didn't understand why anyone was mad at her. She freed thousands of slaves, and destroyed nearly one hundred mansions built off their blood and tears.

“Oh thank you so much! I was trying to get dressed for work and they wouldn't leave me alone!” The woman was so endearingly grateful in her fluffy pink sweater, hugging Ezra's upper body section.

Ezra wanted to melt like butter in a microwave. She could feel it in her bones, in her very heart. The seeds of maddening love worming their way into her sanity. It took all her decades of military rigour to look neutral and push the woman away. “I-it's my honour and duty to serve the public.” the great warrior replied with only a slight stammer.

“This is Agent Braginskaya. She was training to be in foreign investigations, but I think that won't work out.” Toris introduced her in rusty Russian, sipping his water.

“Talk while you bike Director. Your five minutes are up.” Ezra chided, ever a stern task master.

The older brunette grumbled, hoping Ezra had forgotten, but obeyed. He was soon pedalling away as he spoke in huffed breath. “The boys at Langley Falls and I agree... She would be an excellent field operative... Her PR potential is incredible... if we approach it correctly. She neutralizes hostiles merely by... standing next to them.”

“This is true. But you have no Agents controlled enough to train her. She needs a person of honour, and strength. She needs a truly disciplined person to... Why are you looking at me like that.” Ezra demanded in the middle of her speech, fist in palm.

“You're describing yourself. Congratulations, you have the job.” Toris replied in all seriousness, still biking away.

“But, but... When does this start?” Ezra asked, gravely concerned. Ezra was taught not be soft. She was not meant to love. This could potentially unwind years of training and dedication to her glorified mercenary career.

“Now. I'm tired.” Toris answered, getting off the bike. He left the gym without another word, towel slung over one shoulder.

The new agent looked over with happy blue eyes. “When do I start training?” she asked sweetly, like living candy. There was only one thought that came to Ezra's diamond of a sharp mind. She was totally and completely screwed.


	7. Training Monkeys

After a hard three months of languages lessons, drill training, and culture exposure... Toris was furious with Ivan and his sister. Today had been their first day as heroes and FBI agents. It had been a total break in protocols, a literal disaster. The siblings sat before him in his office. Katya looked guilty as all hell. Ivan looked bored and unrepentant.

Toris tented his fingers, glaring at the two. He rarely became angry, due to rampant health issues. Today was the exception. “I am very disappointed in both of you.” He started in all seriousness, Russian language less than elegant on his Americanized tongue.

“Sir, it was all –” Ivan's protests were cut off coldly.

“I did not give you permission to speak agent! This is a government department and there will be order!” Toris exploded, his normally gentle voice began to crack from contained rage. Cowed, both Slavic blondes withered in their seats.

“Now. As I was saying... I am very disappointed in both of you. My organization took you in, sheltered you, trained you, and you spit on it's efforts, by... by directly disobeying orders in the field!”

Ivan rolled his eyes, but didn't dare speak. He was the worst behaved in all this mess. Alfred's influence had rubbed off on him like a bad disease. It was clear Ivan didn't understand the repercussions of his actions.

“You can't stop working in the middle the day to have sex in public.” Toris went on. It was disgusting but true. Ivan and Agent Jones abandoned their lookout post to fuck like rabbits. It had cost the SCFD a major lead on a case. The basal incident had thoroughly damaged the department's outward professionalism. The only miracle in all of this was the media had not caught it on tape.

“Only due to my own personal connections, and my generosity, the SCFD tolerates such close relations between it's workers. Today, you tested my limits, and you failed. I'm suspending you until you learn some sort of lesson. This suspension includes cutting your pay in half. Don't make me reduce it further!”

Ivan looked ready to argue, mouth open, then closed it at the last threat. With a sulky nod, Ivan mumbled “Yes Sir.” Toris got up, walked around his desk, and slapped the petulant child.

“Did I say you could speak yet!?” Toris growled. Getting the picture now, Ivan shook his head in silent bewilderment.

“You will be suspended with half pay, and resume _monitored_ training with Agent Loki and Agent Jones. When you learn to follow orders, I might consider reinstating you. Now get the fuck out of my sight and leave this office.” Toris finally ordered, pointing to the door. Ivan left, looking rather spooked. Toris limped slightly as he looked out into the hall.

There Alfred was, offering his chided companion a high five, then a greeting kiss on the lips. The brat ruined everyone he trained with except Agent Williams. This was assuming, of course, he wasn't having sex with everyone like a whore. Toris didn't even know anymore. He didn't _want_ to know.  
“You, Jones! Suspended with no pay! I'm taking all your credit cards too!”

“Goddamn it Toris!” Alfred whined, subject to such treatment many... many times before. He never learned a damn thing. The SCFD couldn't fire him because the blonde monster was too potentially destructive. Ivan was honestly in the same boat.

Closing the door, the director sighed in exhaustion. Katya was still seated, teary eyed and frightened. Toris's anger sharpened frown of before softened. “Please, calm yourself.” he soothed, offering her a tissue.

The woman accepted it shyly, dabbing her face dry. She might crack in two from a mere harsh word. Alfred's telepathy blocking crown sat on her head awkwardly.

The gaudy hat was the only thing stopping the entire building from devolving into an orgy. The psychic department had vastly underestimated how powerful Katya's powers would be when actively directed. The tense hostage situation at a children's hospital became a nightmare in minutes. Patients and doctors started fucking and masturbating like animals. Even the media and police officers had caved to Katya's accidental influence, moans echoing in the streets below.

The only blessing about the bizarre situation was the shame of it all. The mayor of New Jersey didn't want to talk about it. The cops wouldn't say a word. It was akin to a terrible fart in a small room, everyone hoping the smell would pass without mention.

“Now. I understand what happened was an accident. I know you didn't mean for... all of that to happen.” Toris sat next to her as a means of psychological friendliness, patting a hand. “But we can never have an accident of that scope again. I understand your powers are controlled by your mood... yes?”

Katya dabbed away more tears, nodding.

“I want you to take a nice vacation. Relax. Learn ways to manage your stress. I understand now, we put too much pressure on your first performance.” Toris soothed, only for her benefit. Internally he was a snarled mess of anxiety and exhaustion. He could feel his discomfort lurking inside, crippling levels of distress.

“I'm not... not fired?” She sniffled, batting long eyelashes.

“No. This was a failing on our part to some degree. Whatever... _personal_ problem you have was not dealt with before we sent you out. So, get better, then you can work again.”

“Oh thank you, thank you so much for your generosity! I'll be sure to train harder!” The tall woman thanked him joyously, shaking his hand with great rigour. The ill fitting gold crown fell off her head, caught in mid air by a panicking Toris. The ugly yet needed tool was then held to her head. Using almost all his office supplies, the thing was bound to her skull with a thick rope of tape.

“Now... do not take that off until you get to the vacation house we specified, okay?” He asked again, heart pounding. His gut bloomed with recognized pain.

“Okay. Thank you very much!” With that, the very curvaceous agent skipped out of the office. Toris nearly collapsed in his desk chair, clutching at his chest. Picking up the phone, he dialed the private emergency line.

“Hello!” Toris's old crime fighting partner answered the phone instantly, always a ray of sunshine.

“Felix, I need my medicine.” Toris panted, clutching at his innards uselessly. He had waited too long between treatments. This whole day had been so stressful, he simply forgot.

“I'll be right up!” The line went dead after, but Toris knew his platonic _something_ of many decades would deliver. They had something deep, connected, and entirely hard to grasp. It certainly wasn't a sexual bond, for neither male was interested. Still... there was something tangible between them. To be frank, neither of them wanted to ruin it with a label.

Felix rushed into the office with Toris's anxiety medication mere minutes later. He was a man on a mission, having done this before. The door was closed and locked, the shades drawn shut with great haste. Finally, Toris was given his pills and a glass of water. He downed the little tablets desperately, eager to stop the pain.

The fact of the matter was that work was killing Toris. His heart was in a weakened state these days. All the while his limp was worsening. Honestly, until today, there was no agent that Toris could think of to replace him. Almost no employee was fair, just, and resistant to an array of powers. No one except Agent Williams. Toris was sure now, the young man was the perfect for for the job.

“You need to quit before you get another stroke.” Felix whispered lovingly, touching his hands to Toris's temples. Weak healing energy washed over the director's body. Felix's healing power, the most desired in all of America, was a private secret hidden from the world. Felix didn't want to do battle, or tangle with terrorists.

Together since the start, Felix's only concern was his subtly suffering partner. Toris had now survived two breakdowns, a heart attack, a stroke, and getting his legs shattered twice. The life of a super hero was almost easy these days, but only because Toris founded the SCFD in 1976. Before then, some vigilante heroes died fulfilling their destiny. Toris had died for roughly a minute in 1975 from a gun shot to the chest.

It took roughly six minutes for the healing to fix Toris's stress induced ulcer, but it worked. “I'm... sorry I waited so long. Today was... a mess.” the older brunet admitted, his green eyes meeting with Felix's.

“I heard about the hospital sex thing.” Felix chuckled, kissing him sweetly on the cheeks.

“Agent Williams covered all our asses. He put all the people to sleep. I didn't even know he could do that. I'm so proud of him I... I honestly think he might take my place.”

The news was surprising to both men, even as Toris blurted it out. Felix smiled as he finished fixing the other man up. “Do you really mean it? You'll retire?”

“I'll have to. This place is killing me.”

Felix did a charming hair flip, patting him on the shoulder. “You _always_ say that Tortor, then you start working again.”

Toris laughed. “I suppose I do. Can you stay for a while? Make sure I'm stable?”

“Of course, you big goof.”

Feeling safer already, Toris straightened his posture and pressed the intercom controls. “Agent Williams and Agent Van Den Berg, please come to the director's office.”


	8. Internal Weathering

This day had started so badly for Lars. First he was woken up promptly at five in the morning. It wasn't any old alarm either. It was that mind skimming bastard, Matthew. Lars was dreaming the typical nonsense one did. He was amidst a field of colours, snippets of his happy childhood around him.

Agent Williams entered via a black hole in reality, grabbing a child Lars by the shoulder. The black suited man was a sharp juxtaposition to his warm surroundings. “Wake up. You're late for work.”

“What? Me and Mom were going to –” Lars was jolted to the real world without warning. His eyes snapped open to his assigned bedroom. Matthew was there, hand delicately holding the top of Lars's head. The touch was withdrawn just as Lars tried to kick and strike at him.

“My dreams are all I have! Leave me the fuck alone!” the reformed villain snapped, hating everything about his existence. He had every right to. He had a _curious_ telepathic asshole for a work partner and parole officer. There was nowhere Lars could hide, no where he could find refuge. The job came first, and Agent Williams would stop at nothing to get Lars to work on time.

Lars barely finished his shower when that nagging telepathic voice wafted back. ' _You take so long to clean up!_ '

“SHUT UP AND LEAVE ME ALONE!” Lars shouted to the empty white bathroom.

' _We have fifteen minutes to clock in. I literally can't._ '

“Are you going to fucking watch me while I dress too?”

' _Are you giving me a reason to, as your parole officer?_ '

Lars had painfully slowly learned, after three months, not to react. After a long minute, the vague presence of Agent Williams faded away. It was basically like a barely perceptible prickle of thoughts over his own. As much as Lars despised his keeper, no one else at work really talked to him. Lars was Maelstrom after all, the villain that broke the electric grid for two minutes.

The sad part was Lars was virtually unknown as a bad guy prior to sabotaging the grid. Not keen on murder, he was all about the liberating of other people's fine art. Lars was just having a really shitty day at the time, hours after his dear sister's funeral. His power over storms, poorly controlled back then, was purely dictated by mood.

In a state of grief, Lars had summoned the largest thunder storm New Jersey had ever experienced. It shorted out all of New Jersey in seconds. From there, the entire electrical grid fell like dominoes. That was the day Lars's free life, one of crime and family, had died. Nothing... nothing mattered now.

There was only the cracking shell of vanity from before, and endless toiling work.

Lars was dressed in his favourite black leather with orange lightning bolt insignia. His eye patch was clean, as was the scarred mess beneath. A lover of classic music, he always hauled along a durable black violin. Sometimes he used music to stir his soul, granting maximum power output. Hair finally perfectly spiked, Lars left his government appointed apartment. He lived near the SCFD, like all the other poor bastards that worked there.

' _You took so long. We'll be late for sure._ ' Matthew nagged forever more, mouth still as they walked to the agency supplied car. Lars silently wondered if Matthew could talk properly at all. Was he in some weird accident, where –

' _No. I don't talk because I don't need to._ ' 

“Stop interrupting my thoughts!” Lars snapped, buckling himself in the passenger seat.

' _Stop thinking so loud then. I can feel your gay tendencies from here._ '

“I'm not gay you mind probing piece of shit! It's like you want me to kill you.” Lars threatened, prickles of terror under his skin. He was gay, right to his core being. This was also the USA during the 1980's. Homophobic political leaders were the status quo, making homosexual existence a living nightmare. This was especially if you were out to the public. So Lars lied. He lied so hard, it became a sport. Winning the game meant you didn't get murdered in a prison shower.

' _Relax. It's not like I tell people._ ' Matthew assured as he drove, work just down the road now.

Lars relaxed a little, knowing the agent was good to his non-word. Bless that, and bless Matthew's fine looking ass. No, go away gay thoughts! Focusing on a word puzzle Lars finished last night, he managed to compress his attraction into a ball and hide it once more.

They arrived one minute late, which was crushing to Agent Williams. The guy just stood before the clock in machine, looking depressed. ' _My perfect attendance is ruined!_ '

“For fuck sake.” Lars muttered, pushing the weaker man out of the way. He gathered residual static from his own body, and fried the life out of the wall mounted device. “Oh no! It looks like Agent Jones shorted out the clock in thingy!” He spoke loudly in mock anger.

A voice from nearby offices was heard, followed by collective sighs of resignation from others. “Goddamn it Jones.”

Matthew watched all of this with wide eyes, not mentioning a thing. The two progressed to Matthew's private office. Lars had a furry beanbag chair in the corner, along stacks of research papers. There was a wall mounted chain for hand cuffing Lars if he tried to run. He had tried twice now. Lars never made it more than five steps before he was paralyzed by migraines from Matthew.

He wasn't trying to escape anymore. Not only was it fruitless, but their case was getting interesting. The battered suitcase of papers Ivan surrendered was an mystery. It had been something impossible to unlock. Felix in equipment management ended up cutting the thing open with a grinder.

It was packed solid with papers in German, Russian, and Mandarin. Matthew was the only man in the building capable of reading this mess. He skimmed off the knowledge of the entire SCFD like a private index. The duo had now spent two month's reading, organizing, and repairing the ancient laboratory notes. Regardless of language, all the evidence pointed to a secret experiment.

There was an obsession over some object only called “the source”. This “source” was apparently capable of giving humans super powers, destroying societies, and changing the destiny of man. The late Chinese empire pursued it for at least sixty years. The Nazis discovered the knowledge and tried to revive the 'source', also failing miserably. The Soviet Union seized the in-progress project upon invading Berlin. Apparently they had been working on this mystery object or energy since the forties. It was unclear if they had succeeded, so far.

An hour passed as the guys picked over the last of the suitcase papers. Matthew must have been shocked by something he found, a verbal curse word slipping out. “Holy shit.”

“What, what?” Lars called out, scrambling out of his hot orange beanbag chair.

“It's... It's... Oh I'll show you.” Matthew whispered, unused to speaking on his own. Slipping off a glove, he wiped it dry on his lap. Gingerly touching Lars's offered hand, A flood of translated information washed away his brain.

' _... I don't have much time left before my commander knows. I stole everything. The papers, the genetic samples, I stole all of it. The crazy bastards replicated the source. It's not a bomb like I thought. It's organic, it has to be alive to work. I can't let..._ '

The translations were fragmented as they blurred by, making Lars's brain burn from overload.

' _... were experimented on. I can't believe they did that. I can't let them use the source for super soldiers. I curse communism, and I never want the world to suffer the will of our people. I am fleeing tonight. They suspect me now anyway. I don't care if I die, I just want Ivan and Katya to survive. Alina understands. She already has the wagon packed. I have to protect the children now._ '

More sentences flew by as Lars clutched his aching head. Hiding the source, some geneticist named Mikhail ranted about how the world would never suffer from some legendary super soldier program. It was clear now, this increasingly paranoid narrator was Ivan's father.

Gasping, Lars broke contact. He couldn't bear the weight of everything in his mind, screaming all at once. Retreating to his fuzzy beanbag chair, the throbbing headache took an age to pass. “The... The source, whatever it is, the soviets made it work.” he stammered.

' _Yes. Ivan's dad hid it in... something on the family farm. I have no idea what, since it has to be a living thing... or in a living thing. The only thing mentioned at the time that he could use is some livestock or his own children._ ' Matthew supplied, face paused in contemplation.

“Oh my god, he hid the source in his own children.” Lars blurted out, horrified. Matthew nodded silently, merely frowning in disappointment at humanity. It was time to visit the Director. This case was much larger than the boys could handle.

They never even made it to the office. Toris was seen in a hurriedly semi-limp, fishing for keys in his dark green blazer. His two silent guards trailed behind him, carrying a ton of superhuman riot gear.

“What's the rush?” Lars asked in semi-friendly manner. He wasn't afraid of the nearly forty year old man at all. The failed vigilante might be immune to direct powers contact, but a natural lightning bolt could burn him to charcoal.

“There's a hostage situation at the children's hospital. Lady Justice and Lady Love are on the way, but the police need help with the crowds. Williams, come with me.” Matthew followed loyally, glancing back in warning. Lars grumbled a few choice curses and jogged behind the lot. He technically had to be in sight or telepathy range of his handler at all times.

The obvious question had to be voiced as the Director, Agent Williams, and Lars all piled into a black agency car. “Sir, do you really think sending Lady Love to a hostage situation in a children's hospital is smart? It's her first day as an agent.” Lars objected, apparently the only one with common sense.

“I must agree with Maelstrom.” Matthew spoke softly, tucking some of his wavy blond locks behind an ear. Cute. Uh, no! Not cute, because Lars was so straight. Oh fuck, did agent Williams hear that thought, or this one? Lars's internal panic was interrupted by a low chuckle from Matthew. Oh god, he did hear it.

“Agent Loki assured me she's ready for combat. I have no doubts in his judgment.” Toris dismissed the concerns easily. Lars rolled his eyes but said nothing. Agent Loki was fucking insane and that was it. The agent could see into the future, the past, and possibly beyond. Freed from a Nazi prison in 1944, Loki never seemed to age, or become more sane. The only thing Agent Loki was friends with was Matthias, his pet raven.

“He sees the future. How can he be wrong?” Felix offered from the driver's seat, racing to the hostage site through cramped streets. Lars didn't believe a word of it. He stared out the window with a grim frown.

00000

The hospital was pure chaos. Crowds of citizens pressed against a wall of cops in black riot gear. Agent Williams looked uncomfortable to say the least. “I don't think I can calm all of them. Something is Interfering from inside the building.” he informed Toris.

“Damn it, another super. Lady Justice and Lady Love are already inside. The floor the bad guys are on should be isolated by now. Just... try to stop the interference and get rid of the crowd.” Toris ordered, practically pushing them out of the car. Two overwhelmed cops welcomed the help. Yelling the exact same information over a raging crowd, the two agents were directed to the building.

“Do something before we're overrun! Your supposed to be heroes!” another cop screamed at them, beating down a person trying to slip past.

Matthew, already clutching his head, nodded and entered the hospital. Flashing security passes, they easily reached the empty stair case. “The... the interference is on the third floor.” Matthew stammered leaning on a railing for support. This was the most pain Lars had ever seen the neutral agent suffer. “We... we need to...” Matthew stammered, kneeling on a stair landing.

“We need to get out of here, you're about to fall over.” Lars insisted, pulling him up.

“I can do it, I have to do it. No one else can... I can...” Matthew was valiantly struggling, eyes beginning to well up with tears. In the most intense exchange of psychic energy Lars ever encountered, Matthew grabbed him by the wrists with bare hands. The next words came too loudly across all senses. “ **I can save them all if they go to sleep.** ”

The words were not words. It was reverberation that rattled Lars to the core. In that brief second, he could feel a thousand minds pressing into him like tiny pins. Anger, fear, and drowning levels of sexual desire bleached out into an emotional inferno. Lars couldn't even move or function, until Matthew collapsed into unconsciousness.

On wobbly legs, Lars caught the lighter man. Holy fuck, what just happened? He staggered and fell on his ass, a cushion for Matthew's dead weight. It took a long minute for the raging headache to subside, and another to catch his breath. What in hell was _that_?

“Hey, boss man, you okay?” Lars asked, poking the slack agent in his lap. The omnipresent prickle of Matthew's thoughts were completely gone, even as he was touched. The guy really did pass out. What was Lars supposed to do now?

Recovered from whatever brain melting experience that was, Lars stood. With nothing but time in super prison, Lars had worked out until he was quite fit. Carrying Agent William over a shoulder was easy to pull off. It seemed the telepathic man had finally shorted out, snoring loudly.

Now was the best time to steal from the hospital. Lars went to the third floor like his mission dictated. All the art here was reprints and worthless anyway. Pilfering a dozen wedding rings, Lars had already explored half the second floor on the way.

It was clear now, the third floor was where the hostage had been held. All the swat team members about to rush the stairs were curled up in sleep on the floor. Everyone was like this, half undressed and sleeping. Many still had cocks hanging out, hard as they snored on tile. The entire scene was gross and confusing... and sexy. No. No it was not sexy.

Lars blushed indecently and tried to ignore the groups of half naked men resting, some still holding themselves. “F-fuck.” He stammered, pushing past the glorious cock spotted landscape. Reaching the third floor, it suddenly became clear what happened. Not far from the stair well, the bad guy was napping on the floor, gun abandoned. Mere feet from him, Lady Love.

Agent Brazi... Bragink... Bagr... _Lady Love_ was out cold, a ring of sleeping nurses around her angelic dress wrapped form. The stench of sex was in the air, giving away something horrifyingly funny. A lot of people achieved orgasm at the same time in this room. Lars was right all long, Katya was not ready for the big leagues.

What was curious was that was Lars was unaffected from the start. Thorough testing had showed Katya could affect any person even remotely attracted to women. Even the tiny teeniest amount. Lars and Matthew were just fine around her on a daily basis which meant the worst.

Lars was ultra gay. No. He couldn't be. He was machismo and handsome, a total killer! He couldn't be anything weird! The spike blonde was torn from his daily personal crisis by a small voice. It was that of a child in a paper gown.

“Excuse me Mister. Why the people go to sleep?” A little one, no older than six, asked as she emerged from behind a chair.

“Because...” Lars paused, not sure what to say. Matthew had short circuited and let off an atomic sleep bomb. Lars had obviously been shielded, but this lone child was entirely unaffected by anything. “... because everyone was very sleepy.” The kid was superhuman, she couldn't be anything else.

“I don't want to be alone here. All the people are naked.” the girl mumbled, attaching herself to Lar's long black coat. She looked up big green eyes, absolutely heart melting.

“Follow me then.” Lars was resigned to yet another dependant as he looked around. Lady Justice was unconscious a metre from Katya, Alfred's gaudy blocking crown in her loose fingers. Setting Matthew down, Lars did what everyone at SCFD should have done from the start.

He duct taped that damn crown to Katya's head. She shouldn't have been used at all. A power this insane should be hidden from the world, by any means possible. Just as he completed this task, a panting Toris entered the room. Frazzled brown hair peppered with grey was trying to escape its elastic, as per usual.

“Agent Van Den Berg, what the hell... hello little girl what are you doing awake?” Toris asked in a strained voice, narrowly avoiding swearing in front of children.

“I'm not sleepy.” the short haired girl answered brightly, waving at him.

“What happened here?” Toris asked in terrible German, a man of many mediocre talents.

“Katya blew up and make everyone... well...” Lars couldn't stop blushing, hot under his black leather coat collar. There was so many hard dicks in his view today. His head was swimming. “... That overwhelmed Williams, and he... shorted out. He's deep asleep.”

Toris lowered to the ground on bending knee, carefully rolling over Matthew. Taking a pulse and checking eye reactions with a flashlight, the Director sighed in relief. He flipped back to English, hand to his chest. “He's not brain dead. At least there's that... Carry all the agents back to my car. This is a disaster clean up now.”

Lars nodded, having no intention of fulfilling the command as intended. He weaved slowly through the place, able to steal handfuls of jewellery. After kicking in the door to the security office, all the cameras were fried by the latent electricity in Lar's lanky body.

Finally, all the agents were dumped in the car, along with the darling little girl. Toris looked done for the day, permanently tired like a parent. He looked outward in all directions. There was sleeping people in the streets for at least a block in every direction. Citizens driving by were beginning to park their cars and investigate.

“What a disaster. We'll lose all our funding.” Toris muttered, visibly upset. It was a rare expression to witness, like an old man when his dog died. It was pitiable.

“I got this. You're going to need an umbrella” Lars replied coolly, opening up his violin case. Propping the glossy black instrument in the crook of his shoulder the spiky blonde grinned. “It might get a little stormy.” Leaning on a lamp post as a grounding wire, he began to play.

The song was Caprice for Solo Violin, Op. 1 No. 4 by Niccolò Paganini. It was a choppy yet reserved piece only worthy of a rainy day. The stretches between the spikes of sound loomed with impending rain. Clouds swirled overhead, fuelled by the subtly dour mood of their maker. Soon the song paced and bounced, like a wary animal fleeing from prying eyes.

Rain pattered over the city in minutes, stretching outwards to engulf the world. The world dimmed as Lars's eyes slid shut. Carried by the sound, by the memories of her. His sister. Thunder rumbled closer with each verse... Closer... Closer...

Lightning exploded above him. Lars was a natural conductor of energy. He could stick his fingers in sockets as a baby and be fine. Running down the lamp post, it tingled in his body. He only wished Emma could hear his song of grace, but it would never be so. She was dead after all. 

Amidst the gentle rain, the city stirred to wakefulness. The sudden bolt jolted everyone awake. Half dressed people scattered groggily, soaked to the bone. The media and police looked shaken and ashamed, unable to look each other in the face. The senior officer of before bashfully dressed and approached. “There will... um... The chief will contact you about this because... Everything will be resolved.” He stammered, stopping his own rambles.

“Of course.” Toris agreed numbly, aware how awkward this was. Lars's beautiful solo came to an end, his mood sufficiently sour now. He used to love playing, bringing good weather. Now it only brought the rain, barbed by occasional lightning barbs of hate for the world... For himself.

Rivulets of rain ruined Lars's typically static stiff hair. He looked over the waking crowd, almost entirely scattered by bad weather. People didn't like a storm. People didn't like him. Why he was even out on parole at all was a total mystery. Technically he had been sentence to twelve years in prison. This was only three or four years into his long haul.

A hand settled on his shoulder, the much shorter director giving him a look of approval. “You did well today.”

Lars blinked in surprise, not sure how to take the statement. He both loathed and adored Caprice for Solo Violin, Op. 1 No. 4 by Niccolò Paganini. It was once a song of joy, now only a shadow. “Thank you sir.” He mumbled. No one could tell the tears from the water as it fell from a silver dimmed sky. No one would ever know the sorrow of the notes uttered by his stolen violin.

“Let's get back to HQ and get all this mess sorted out then.”

Well, that was going to fucking suck.


	9. Changes

Matthew's dreams were not truly dreams. Telepathic since he could remember, his sleeping was a mere shelter from waking. It was the only time he couldn't feel so many minds picking away at his mental constitution. In the hazy shelter of unconsciousness, Matthew mulled over his latest failure.

Pacing in the fog of his own mind, he could only sulk. Matthew was no better than his twin brother, full of hubris and spite. How could he have been so foolish to handle an entire hospital? Such places were difficult without the rioting crowds. Oh, his heroic tendencies would kill him yet. He might already be dead.

The problem was that Matthew was stuck asleep. He had never been trapped like this before. It was a frightening possibility he didn't know he could suffer... the coma. As a fully capable telepathic, he was still mentally functional in such cases. He imagined it was like a prison.

So Matthew waited for a time, unable to wake. He paced his own infinity, or fiddled with self created puzzles. Finally, there was a break in the isolated grey world. The first bursts of outer thought, the sensations of others came to him. In Matthew's regular existence, he felt at least one hundred of these at any given moment. They were his burdens and his guiding stars. The presence of others expanded as he returned to the living, becoming a glittering canvas.

Matthew woke slowly, soaked to the bone in his work suit. He was propped up in Lars's fuzzy bean bag chair, his head supported by a rolled up sweater. He blinked blearily, hurting from such an awkward position. His vision swam as he looked around. Lars, so tall above him, was talking to Felix in the door way.

“Look who's up now.” Felix greeted, crouching low. Matthew knew damn well the man was a healer, although he pretended to be normal. Why he hid his true nature, Matthew didn't know or understand. All that mattered was Felix was likely responsible for him waking up.

“Just a bit of a nap after showing off at the hospital.” Lars lied, like he usually did. This didn't bother Matthew at all. He could see through such things easily.

Matthew smirked, not one for talking. He managed to stand, stiff and dripping wet. ' _Why am I wet._ '

“It just rains sometimes.” Lars forever lied, forever dishonest. The truth was clear as day, Lars's own version of event on his mind. Sorrow and the rain, his own power no doubt. There was more to it, but Matthew was too tired to find out. Lest he leave Lars to his secrets this time.

' _No doubt the director will want to talk about what happened._ ' Matthew noted mentally, feeling hungover. He had never drank a drop in his life, but he had skimmed enough surface thoughts to understand. After all, he suffered headaches almost everyday.

“Clean up first. Toris is busy yelling at Alfred... Then Ivan and his sister... and probably other people... Hmm. I think I'm supposed to be like... working or something?” Felix soon wandered off. He was flaky like that. It was unclear why he worked here at all, given he was never in his department.

Once more, Matthew was alone with Lars. Neither male had much to say. Today's events were so bizarre it wasn't needed. Finally Matthew broke the silence, his physical voice soft and unpractised. “Thanks for cleaning up after I failed.”

“You didn't fail.” Lars replied pointedly, not one for gratuitous praise. “You handled the crowd like ordered... and took a power nap.”

Matthew had finally found his limit, collapsing catastrophically in a mini coma. It was only two hours to everyone else, but it felt like a week to him. “... I need to get cleaned up for getting yelled at.” he mumbled, feeling sorry for himself.

A flash of intense attraction fluttered in Lars's mind, thought he would never admit it. It was exactly like butterflies landing on your skin, creating rosy bursts of emotion. It was curious to observe, given Matthew had never been the object of a flaming crush before. “Yeah sure, whatever.” Lars replied coolly. Lying forever more, he was a dependable fool of his own making.

After a quick shower on the premises, Matthew changed into his usual agency provided suit. He didn't have much clothes of his own. Work was his life. The honourable SCFD had been his sole existence since he was recruited out of high school at the the tender age of 18. Slowly going mad from his telepathy prior, it had been a great boost to his sanity. The agency had effectively trained him to control his power over four years, making Matthew the man he was today.

Lars was not far away, as per parole requirements. He was dry as ever with that ridiculous static spiked hair. The cheater had probably dried himself with static energy and wind. His power was so damn cool, not that Matthew would ever voice such compliments. “Ready to face the music?” Lars asked in smug manner.

“As ever.” Matthew whispered. Not being telepathically invaded on a regular basis seemed to put Agent Van Den Berg at ease. It was worth the risk to speak to him for now.

Toris's rare yells were heard as they neared his office. “You, Jones! Suspended with no pay! I'm taking all your credit cards too!” The man then retreated back into his office, closing the door.

“Goddamn it Toris!” Alfred whined, subject to such treatment many... many times before. He never learned a damn thing. Matthew would know, as Alfred's living sound board for hour long rants. The bratty brother was spotted as Matthew rounded a corner. Alfred looked right pissed.

“Fuck.” Matthew whispered. He was not looking forward to a week of his twin brother fuming while drunk over a phone line.

“Mattie, Mattie! They suspended me again. I didn't even do anything wrong! Tell 'em Ivy!” Alfred wailed dramatically. Ivan stood beside him, not looking guilty at all. This was expected. His body might be that of a fit giant, but he was chronologically and mentally a horny 18 year old. Ivan wouldn't be good agent material for years.

“Da. Innocent.” Ivan replied, slinging an arm around Alfred in suggestive manner. Right.

“Let's go get drunk. Screw this place and it's rules!” Alfred fumed as he stomped away. Ivan followed with cheers of “Yes, the drunk!”

With the destruction duo finally gone, Matthew sat quietly in a chair and waited for his judgment. Lars sat beside him, glancing over occasionally. “So... what are we doing?”

“Waiting for Armageddon. After that... pancakes. I need to relax.” Matthew replied, easily half the volume of his twin brother.

Finally, after three months of Lars pulling petty bullshit and bluffs, his true colours shone through. Just a crack, but it was enough. “Why are you talking to me, with a voice?” He sounded vulnerable in his quiet curiosity.

“You earned my respect. You're worth talking to. Most people don't have that right.” Matthew replied honestly, meaning it. The ex-con could have left Matthew to die in that dirty stairwell, stealing everything and driving away. He would have got away with it, since Toris was too busy to stop him at the time. Instead Agent Van Den Berg had kept him guarded and did the job as a side bonus. Beneath his cutting villain exterior of leather and scowls, there was a great big marshmallow.

The psychic bloom of giddy joy from Lars upon hearing this was palpable. The man was crushing hard while in gay denial, and it was very amusing. “Cool.” he grunted, his flat line of an expression slightly tugged into half smile.

After a few minutes, Katya left the office with a bounce in her step. Most free pair of eyes in the room followed her generous bust. They then averted out of fear of getting a dick chopped off by Lady Justice. The brunette was right there after all, in all her infamous man hating glory.

“Do you think they're... involved?” Matthew asked openly, enjoying proper socialization today.

“No doubt about it. Ezra is from a warrior woman tribe, and Katya is... well, herself.”

“They are going to get the best sponsor contracts.”

Lars raised a brow. “Yet you don't?”

Matthew shook his head. “I'm not flashy enough for TV. I don't have an assigned hero name or a costume.”

“Do they even pay you?”

Matthew had to think about it a minute, not having gone out for fun in years. “Yes... the same as an entry level cop, I think. I'm not supposed to be an active field agent.”

Lars was genuinely disgusted now. “But you get a huge bonus and lots of paid holidays right?”

“I don't think so... I'll have to check my balance at the bank.” Matthew wouldn't though. He knew his account was bone dry from a range of expenses.

The ex-con seemed angry now, but said nothing more. Felix ran by, in one hell of a rush, barging into Toris's office. The door and blinds were shut in a hurry. Both agents outside looked to each other, then back to the office. That was bizarre to say the least. Toris wasn't entirely normal, so Matthew brushed the event aside. After another long stretch of time, the intercom crackled to life.

“Agent Williams and Agent Van Den Berg, please come to the director's office.”

They stood and entered the office, certain Toris's polite reign of terror would fall upon them. He had already yelled at six other people today. The Director usually never yelled at anyone. Silently they were invited to sit before their employer of sorts.

There was long tense silence. Lars looked spooked, as did Matthew. Toris looked silently at them, Felix nearby with studied green eyes. No words exchanged at all until Toris pushed the candy dish on his desk forward. “Please, have some if you like.”

Lars dumped the entire candy dish into his coat pockets, then sat with satisfaction. “What? He offered.”

“He said some, not all!” Matthew scolded, forcefully taking half a pocket of candy from greedy fingers. It was returned to the dish from once it came. He then hesitated, meeting violet eyes with his boss in questioning.

“Go ahead, you can have some.” Toris encouraged, smiling now.

Matthew grabbed one singular candy, then sat. Yummy, maple candies.

“So, as you can guess, I'm not mad at you.” Toris began, almost sounding happy. He never sounded pleased about work matters ever.

“Why?” Lars asked the obvious, skeptical and prudent.

The brunet leader clasped his hands as he leaned back in his plush office chair. “You both performed very well. Maelstrom... my apologies, Agent Van Den Berg acted quite heroic. Agent Williams went one step farther at the risk of his own body.”

“I didn't... I'm just...” Matthew sputtered, unused to praise.

“You saved the department's financial ass. The FBI is rather cheap these days, meaning we survive on media coverage and private sector sponsorship. If the hospital disaster had been any worse, a lot of heroes would have been out of work. Alfred was the only one that lost a sponsor, and that was his own damn fault.”

Awash with attention, Matthew blushed hotly as Lars gave him a light shoulder punch of approval. “Hey, that's all you boss.” the reformed villain cheered.

“In light of all this, I finally decided my successor.” Toris announced, audible proud. The room gasped as a whole. “It's you Williams. You're partial to all sides, and very capable on and off field. Your power is perfect for administrative purposes. I don't see any downsides.”

Matthew lost words, making weak soft sounds. Lars was quick to plow over the shock with his own cocky attitude. “He's going to need a raise, and a pool, and a cooler gun. He needs a throne chair too.”

“All of these demands are perfectly reasonable if he accepts the promotion. Which reminds me... You have never once asked for a raise in four years. You also have 84 unused paid holidays. I must point out, you can't take more than thirty days off in a row. Otherwise feel free to use them. Take a vacation somewhere fun and think about your future.”

The telepathic man finally collected his scattered clouds of thought. “S-s-sir I can't, I'm not the candidate you're looking for. I don't have as many years of experience as Agent Loki or Agent Honda. I'm not as powerful as Alfred or Agent Héderváry.”

Everyone blinked owlishly around him. Felix muttered “Is that how you say Lady Justice's last name?”

Toris only shrugged in response, equally baffled. “Anyway. Should you accept, the training would be gradual. We're not going to dump all the weight on you in one go. You should finish up any business you have in your previous position as well.”

Matthew struggled to say anything again, overwhelmed. 

“What about me. Am I one of his little projects?” Lars asked in cold manner, never afraid of the director. He really should have been.

Toris frowned at the lack of tact, unimpressed but not surprised. “In a sense, yes. He will decide your fate. If you continue being so rude to me, I might have you put back in your cell before then.” That shut up Lars immediately, his eyes wide in terror.

“Sir, I don't know. Yet.” the wheaten blonde finally answered, feeling and looking near bloodless.

“Well. Think it over.” Toris replied kindly. “Now unless you have other concerns, I'm quite busy.”

“What about that little girl Agent Van Den Berg found? Is she okay?” Matthew asked, clear headed when the subject wasn't about him.

“Lilly is being tested for power type and range. After that, I'll hand her off to the foster system, assuming she's not dangerous.” Matthew didn't like this answer, he couldn't pin down why. There was _something_ about the child that irked the man. Trying to read her thoughts was like gripping oily glass. It simply slipped and clattered past, unread and mysterious. Damn the immune ones!

Silently he stood and motioned to Lars. They left the office, Matthew entirely mentally numb. Lars was obliviously happy for him, taking a brief peek at his ass in the hall. “Congratulations.” He offered simply.

Matthew only nodded. He wouldn't accept the offer until he resolved the case about Ivan's father. Ever since he started the darn thing, there was feel of destiny about it. “We're not done with this source mystery yet.” he spoke with gentle finality.

“Yes, boss.” Lars replied sarcastically, purely to mask relief of more adventures. The real question was, where would this case take them?


	10. Things We Lost In The Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot going on here. I had to chop some of the action off for next chapter.

She scarcely dared breathe, hidden in a gap between filing cabinets. The little girl had an urgent mission after all. Lilly was in the SCFD of filthy America for a sole purpose. Find and steal all files related to “the source”. There was no other information, not that she cared. She and her father had been paid an ungodly sum to complete the task. Affording the services of War Machine and his daughter, Puppet Master, meant no questions.

Her flimsy entry of a staged hostage event wouldn't hold up long to scrutiny. Having lost possession of the man from before, he would regain his memory in hours. By normal means, this should have been a generous amount of time. The SCFD had a hurdle Lilly had never encountered before. It was a wheaten blonde agent, a telepathic specialist that was far stronger than her.

Lilly barely shook off his sleep attack at the hospital, and still struggled with his constant probing. Her slippery mental defences had nearly failed twice. Lilly had no time to spare now. After sinking inky tendrils of dark thought in the investigation department, she easily escaped her testing chamber with needed information.

This “source” information was only being pursued by one Agent Williams. He could repel her ranged attacks like water off a duck. Naturally, the target files were in his office. She would have to get close and dispatch him in some other way.

Thus, she was between old green filing cabinets, biding her time. The telepathic man could sense her power when it was activated, ripples in his usual pond. She truly only had one chance. She just had to get one employee armed enough, dumb enough, to walk by. Possess them completely, and her mission was in the bag!

Finally her luck paid off. The perfect vessel walked by, as tall as a door and built like a tank. It was time for the puppet master to play.

00000

Ivan was walking with Alfred, who was absolutely drunk off his ass. They had only been suspended half a day, but Ivan's sexy companion was taking the news hard. Alfred was mainly grieving about his financial situation. This had been his last chance with the beer company that sponsored him. After failing his last four investigations completely, the young agent had fallen out of favour with the public.

Alfred had no sponsor to cover property damage, and no pay cheque. Naturally, he drank himself into oblivion with the last cases of beer from his former sponsor. The only problem Ivan had with it was the mental state. Alfred was so wrecked he didn't know his own phone number or address to order pizza.

Drunk and famished, Ivan was going to get a pizza. Barely functioning in English when sober, Ivan was hopeless without Agent Williams. Surely he would order that tasty tasty pizza, with _extra_ cheese. Ivan loved pizza.

In sight range of Matthew's private office, pizza seemed so much closer. In this simplistic thought, a faint touch was felt through thin pants fabric. Everything sharply went dark. He was alone in a dark blizzard. It all seemed so implausible yet here he was back in Soviet Russia. In the distance, his home was seen. Golden firelight pierced the fierce winter squalls, beckoning him.

He raced to the lantern glow, heart eager. “Grandmother!?” he called out hopefully, missing her terribly. There was no one in the rustic wooden structure. Only a bearskin rug and a lantern were inside. Something... Someone... pushed him on. He needed to find his father's lab notes.

He ripped open the small tables strewn throughout the room, desperate to find the yellowing papers. There was a brief flicker of being in Matthew's office, remains of a metal filing between his fingers. The papers at his feet were once more snowdrifts almost knee high. Disjointed and fractured, Ivan found himself back in a storm. He clutched the retrieved files, confused and frightened.

“Papa! Mama! Grandmother! Please! I don't understand!” He called out, wandering the blizzard in bearskins. A moment later, his hands were empty. The papers were gone, easily a dozen wolves forming from the dark.

Ivan _hated_ wolves the most.

00000

Today couldn't be a normal day for Lars. No, it had to be a full schedule of insanity. The hospital hostage mess had been at lunch. Matthew probably being brain dead had lasted two hours. The over achieving man that was his parole officer _insisted_ on staying behind two extra hours to make up for being in a mini coma.

So here Lars was, stuck at work in the late afternoon. There was at most, sixteen agents that had not gone home yet. Around six were supposedly investigating that strange orphan girl. You couldn't trust orphans, not in Lar's books. He had learned some of his best stealing tricks from those parent free bastards.

“Can we _please_ go. I'm going to miss my shows.” Lars complained.

“I have twelve minutes left on my personal clock, so you do too.” Matthew replied, not even looking at him. Matthew with his pretty violet eyes, like subtle amethysts... Go _away_ gay thoughts, no one likes you... At least, not as much as that fine Agent Williams's booty. Yummy.

Lars cringed at his own basal needs and did his best to ignore it. He glanced in the hall, then groaned in annoyance. It was the idiot wonders, Ivan and Alfred. They were absurdly drunk as they tottered near. This happened every two weeks, when both men were too wasted to order take out dinner. Last time they ordered a mess of cheese stuffed hot peppers and four litres of cola.

“Guys, We're super busy. We can't order you tacos, or beer, or candy, okay? So just go back to the scrap yard and –” Lars was pushed aside by Ivan like he was nothing. With an unnatural blank expression, the juggernaut literally ripped the office off it's hinges.

“What the fuck man! What is your problem!?” Lars shouted in outrage.

Ivan gave no heed, smashing Matthew's expensive desk into splinters. He sorted through the mess silently while Matthew evaded getting crushed. Lar's breath caught from terror as his boss jumped onto Ivan's back.

“He's being mind controlled! If I can just –” The insanely brave agent seemed to be successful for a split second. He wasn't though. Ivan resumed his robot mode, shrugging Matthew off like nothing. Lars's personal dream was then grabbed by his neck off the floor, and hurled out a window. In a shattering spray of glass, Matthew screamed as he began plummeting four stories to his death.

Lar's heart threatened to explode from fear. He ran out the window after the handsome blonde, grabbing him and rotating to take the fall. Squeezing his eyes shut, Lars memorized the wonderful creature he was so incurably gay for. It would be the last thing he knew before he splattered onto the road below.

His scent, masculine yet soft like a fir tree. His body so warm and soft from lack of rigorous exercise. It wasn't fat, but it wasn't top athletic condition either. Perfect to grip when Lars finally pinned him to a mattress. A flustered whisper interrupted his pondering, almost washed out by the howling wind around them.

“I'm flattered by all... _that_ , I am. Can you let me down now?”

Lars cracked open an eye, then shrieked like a little girl. He was higher up than the entire building, supported by a billowing column of air. A heady rain cloud was forming above him already, getting both agents soaked. “Get us down!”

“I'm not doing it, you are!”

“I do storms! I can't fly!”

Matthew held on for dear life, eyes screwed shut. He was afraid of heights as well, which was making this whole thing comically dangerous. “Well I can't fly either!” He swallowed, his anxiety beginning to trickle into Lars's adrenaline pumped brain.

“Stop freaking me out!”

“Stop flying us higher!”

Lars took a long moment to breathe, then yelled over his own wind funnel. It was becoming dense and more powerful, ripping shingles off nearby shops. If this went on, Lars would accidentally make a tornado on top of his work place. “You have to calm me down! My powers are mood dependant!”

“How!?” Matthew yelled back, barely audible.

“I don't know! Fucking think of something before we die!”

What came next was completely unexpected. He kissed Lars. It wasn't a polite peck on the cheek. It wasn't some gross wet thing you'd get from a decrepit grandmother. It was a man's kiss, real heart thundering honest to god passion. It make Lars quiver and hold tightly for reasons opposite of fear. He wanted to melt under Matthew's attention, hands wandering south as they repurchased grip.

Lars opened his eyes when his ass landed gently on the flat roof of the secret SCFD building. The kiss ended as randomly as it started, with Matthew straddling his hips on top. Lars was met with purple eyes like glittering gems, voice soft. “Agent Van Den Berg?” This was a dream, an actual dream. Lars was going to wake up in bed, so damn hard he couldn't think straight again.

“Yes.” Lars whispered, absolutely enchanted. This was it, this was the love confession Lars often imagined when in fevered passions.

“Give me your gun.” the reality was shattered. The second the weapon was handed over, Matthew was gone. Scuttling down a fire escape, he was off in hot pursuit of a possessed Ivan. The dangerous brute was still in visual range, currently battling no less than six agents in the streets.

Lars whimpered in emotional defeat as he rolled away from the edge of the roof. God he was so stupid. He was so intensely stupid. Agent Williams didn't like him that way. He would never want to have sex with Lars, let alone date him. The impossibly handsome bastard was his parole officer. What possible chance did the ex-con think he had with a super cop?

Devastated, the grown man cried silently in the rain. It wouldn't be the first time.


	11. Possibilities

Matthew had to admit, his kiss had been damn brazen. Lars's anxiety was so chaotic and powerful, it seemed like the fastest solution. After all, Lars had Matthew on the brain all day everyday. Normally Matthew wouldn't even consider dating anything. His telepathic might was concern enough to ruin any chances of love. Love was a deep powerful bond on it's own, already capable of madness. Add mind melting levels of telepathy, and it seemed like a disaster for both parties involved.

He didn't have time to think about the emotional quagmires he may have caused. There was six armed agents fighting a very bullet resistant Ivan in the streets! Scuttling down the fire escape, he broadcast commands to the confused and cocky agents. In hive mind fashion, he scraped the surface sensations of all six men. Only two had powers, and they were rather weak.

' _Get into his blind spots. He's mind controlled and easy to confuse. Make him turn around a lot._ ' Everyone obeyed, spooked that their minds were being crawled in. Ivan, still a puppet to some unseen force, swung wildly in rage. He missed often, swearing in Russian about battling... wolves?

He wasn't controlled, he was hallucinating severely! With that vital new lead, Matthew smirked. ' _Everyone howl like wolves._ '

“You can't be serious!”

“That's insane.”

' _Do it!_ ' Matthew repeated, his telepathic voice much less pathetic than his real one.

All six men began to howl something awful. Somehow, it was effective. Mumbling scared nonsense about “more wolves on the way”, Ivan ran scared for Alfred's nearby scrap yard home. The men began to panic, but Matthew stood before them with a raised palm of authority.

They followed him after two shrugged. Three blocks over, Alfred's scrap yard was rather bizarre these days. All the abandoned rusting cars and impounded vehicles were twisted into shapes. Fake metal cabins, complete with fake metal gardens, were everywhere. Since Ivan had unofficially moved in, Alfred was playing house with scrap metal.

Marina, Ivan's beloved black cow, was in a generous size pen with hay. It mooed at them inquisitively as the gaggle of agents sneaked upon Alfred's painted metal shack. Ivan was inside, frightened beyond reason. Skimming off his loony mind, Matthew frowned. Ivan thought he was in soviet Russia during a snow storm?

Spotting laundry drying on a line, Matthew had an idea. He dared not make noise as he crept forward and stole a towel. With a silencing gesture to the others, he tied the towel around his face like a great cowl. Looking just enough like a Russian Babushka to fool an insane man, he send one last command.

' _Hide or something._ '

With that last order, Matthew knocked on the door of the shack. Skimming the insane ranting thoughts radiating off a hallucinating Ivan, a usable female voice was found. ' _Let me in dear!_ '

Ivan called out hopefully in thick Russian at the accurate mental impression. “M-m-mama? Is that really you?”

' _Yes, let me in it's so cold out._ ' Matthew lied, he lied for everything he was worth. If tricking Ivan into arresting himself didn't work, nothing would. The titan of an 18 year old could tear through steel!

“Of course Mama! I love you so much, I thought... I thought you were dead but... I'm just so happy to see you.” Ivan gushed, hugging Matthew senseless upon entry. Spotted in kisses, Matthew had to hold the stale towel disguise around his face to keep it on.

Skimming a cute nickname from the nonsense, Matthew continued on his charade. ' _Vanya, don't you feel tired?_ ' At the same time, he stabbed a powerful urge to sleep deep into Ivan's subconscious. Unlike with true controllers, Matthew could only suggest things. How he subdued a one block radius of people at the hospital was still a mystery.

Applying a new condition was much easier than removing an old one. Ivan's mind, almost pure in it's honest innocence, was terrible easy to influence. Ivan yawned, but shook his head. “I can't, I have to clean out the barn. Marina has been so messy.”

' _We'll clean it out for you. Me and your sister. Now just rest._ '

Ivan released him, and lay on Alfred's too small bed. “Okay, but you have to read me a story.” He replied peeking happy eyes above a thin summer blanket.

It took three completely made up stories to get the idiot to sleep. They had been purely generated off whatever Matthew could steal from passing memory. Finally, Ivan was out cold. He snored something fierce, which greatly helped Matthew's escape.

' _The target fell asleep._ ' He informed the men, on tiptoe as he left the metal shack. ' _Call any psychics still on duty to undo whatever is wrong with him. Someone secure the department._ ' All six agents popped out of various hiding spots, giving him smart salutes. They then scattered.

“What about... him.” The remaining agent whispered, pointing to the shack.

' _Just... let him sleep. We have nothing strong enough to hold him._ '

“Not even –”

' _Not even the super cells._ '

At this, the other man was humbled. He nodded and sat. “I'll stay here then. You'll be needed at the office. The director is gone on stress leave for two days so...”

Fuck. Toris was a stubborn old goat when it was all said and done. It seemed everyone but Matthew had known of his promotion until today, the way they eyed him nervously in the halls. Like herd animals, most of the workplace was unnerved by his advanced abilities. They had every right to be. Matthew could tell a man was lying without so much as breath. At least Mattie could fill in incident reports and manage the flock until Toris's welcome return. It was going to be a long two days until Friday.

Friday came none too soon for a weary Matthew. It wasn't the telepathic burden that was tiring him. He was used to interacting with hundreds of things at once. It wasn't even the people, the lying lazy people. It was the size of the work load that crushed him.

If Agent Van Den Berg was around to help, this all might be doable. With Lars _and_ Felix gone, Matthew was having trouble keeping the insanity contained. There was now a stack of messages for Toris, twenty incident reports, and the second floor had goddamn ants. Someone thought it was just a super great idea to leave an apple rotting in a cubicle.

The second Toris entered his office at nine am sharp, Matthew stood up from the padded chair. He had actually fallen asleep in it several times during brief naps. “Sir, sir, so glad to see you. So, here's everything that happened while you were gone.”

“What exactly went on?” Toris asked with flat suspicion, squinting. Felix, not far behind, giggled.

“The usual. I have to go find my ex-convict now. I haven't physically left the office in twelve hours sir.” As rude and avoidant as this was, Matthew was desperate to flee. He left with great haste, making it downstairs to the parking lot in record time. It was a parking lot of pouring rain. Since Matthew had kissed Lars as a diversion, the weather had been atrocious. The connection was obvious. Finally, Matthew would have to confront the burgeoning issue of the last three months.

It was time to talk to Lars about his world ending crush.

00000

Lars's apartment was crisp and clean, lined with only nice things. Boxes of jewellery, sorted by type, were proudly displayed. No longer did this kleptomaniac induced haven glitter in his mind. Much like the gloomy rain he induced, Lars was profoundly sad. He was curled up on the leather couch with a fluffy blanket, two pet bunnies, and a pint of chocolate ice cream. The soothing melodies of Eric Carmen filled the air, the famous lyrics appealing to Lars's destroyed hopes and dreams.

_When I was young_  
_I never needed anyone_  
_And makin' love was just for fun_  
_Those days are gone_

_Livin' alone_  
_I think of all the friends I've known_  
_But when I dial the telephone_  
_Nobody's home_

_All by myself_  
_Don't want to be, all by myself anymore_  
_All by myself_  
_Don't want to live, all by myself anymore_

He never had a chance with Matthew. The exceptional parole officer and investigator was too busy to fool around with a lousy con. He probably didn't like men, come to think of it. Three months of secret pining and wishes were all for naught. With another wet sniffle, he took a bite of sweet ice cream. Sugar was his only solace now.

A rapid knocking was heard at the door. “Go away.” He rasped, voice cracked from crying loudly for two days. The knocking started up again. “I said, leave me alone!” Lars threatened weakly, shying away from the noise in fuzzy blankets.

“Lars, we need to talk.” Matthew's voice was muffled by the door.

The grieving blonde hesitated, then replied. “Just... give me a minute.” Gathering the bunnies into their cages, Lars brushed the couch off. He wrapped the tear soiled blanket around his naked form like a toga, securing it in place. Ice cream once more in hand, he opened the door.

“Oh, you look terrible.” Matthew whispered, looking absolutely exhausted. His wavy locks were contained in a stubby ponytail, looking just as wilted as Lars.

“Look at who's talking.” Lars muttered, letting the other man in and locking the door. “Okay, talk.”

“First of all... Wow, your place is really clean. I was expecting tissues everywhere.” Matthew rambled distracted as he entered.

“I like to be organized.” Lars dropped back on the couch, slowly licking another spoonful of ice cream.

Matthew sat beside him, fingers tented in serious thought. “Well, I have to admit that this is my fault. I... kissed you. Since then New Jersey has been drowning in rain, and... it needs to stop Lars.”

“I'll just tuck my feelings away in a neat little box then.” The blanketed blonde snarled in pure sarcasm, refusing to look the other in the eye.

“I don't understand why... I don't get this Lars. I don't get why you're so set on me. I came here hoping to clear up why you even... I don't do relationships for a reason, okay? But New Jersey is going to get washed away if we don't talk about this.” The frustration coming off Matthew was almost visible.

“How can you not understand? You've been in my head for three months!”

“Surface thoughts, Lars. _Surface thoughts_ , because the human mind is like an ocean. There's layers to it. I have never ever dared look deeper, because I... I respect people's privacy okay?” Now irate, Matthew glared over these subtle accusations.

“You never... you never poked around in there?” Lars's voice was cautious, no longer defensive.

“No, because I respect a man's privacy. I'm not a monster.”

Lars swallowed, a small flame of hope flickering in his mind. “Well, have you... ever been in a relationship with anyone?” Matthew shook his head silently, taking the ice cream for himself as he got comfortable. Seeing the man lick Lars's spoon was so hot. “How would you even know if you want a relationship or not, you don't even...”

“I can't afford relationships or attractions of any kind. My telepathy would fry anyone involved until they were a vegetable.” Matthew answered simply. He said it so plainly, like discussing the weather.

Lars's hope was a full blown flame now as he leaned forward in interest. Matthew might not even know if he was gay, not under these conditions. There was a chance, ever so slim, but it existed. Hiding giddy joy, Lars attempted to seem calm. “Then how would you know if that kiss was a mistake? You have no logical context to compare to.”

Matthew opened his mouth to protest, then closed in it pursed thought. “I... I suppose you have a point. I have the surface memories of others to go by, that should be enough.”

“Oh come on, we both know that's bullshit. Would you leave it up to other people to enjoy chocolate for you?”

There was moment of quiet, then a sigh from Matthew. “You are more clever than I gave you credit for. Fine. If you return everything you stole in this room, I'll let you take me on a trial run of sorts. Purely to prove your point.”

“Like, a date.” Lars breathed, clutching his blanket toga in anticipation.

“If you have to call it that.”

The sadness of days passed evaporated. Reflecting this, the pouring rain outside was already starting to abate. “After or before I return all my stuff?”

“After.”

It would be at least a month, but Lars was more than willing to perform such a paltry task. Impressing the guy he was in hidden burning lust over was worth it. A bright grin painted across his face. “This is happening then. You'll be so impressed.”

“We'll see.” Matthew replied simply. A faint smiled betrayed him, a beacon at the end of the darkness. Matthew was going to get the daylights dazzled out of him.


	12. Road Trip

As boring as this journey had began, Ezra was beginning to enjoy herself. With Katya wearing her very own adamantine circlet, waves of sexual desire no longer plagued her surroundings. Not only did the pale gold circlet look lovely with pink flowers, it opened up public travel options.

Katya volunteering to drive herself to the safe house was a surprise. The busty woman was clearly of strong rural stock. To have the time to learn modern driving skills was astounding. The duo ripped along the highway well above the speed limit, singing somewhat well to radio songs they did not understand. If they kept this up, the safe house would be in sight by night fall.

The radio cut out without warning. A thin trail of smoke beginning to rise from seams in the hood cover. Not understanding new technology in the slightest, Ezra looked to Katya for guidance.“Why is it doing that!?” Katya asked in concerned pitch. The car rolled to a stop on the barren highway, more smoke beginning to seethe from the front. A retching metal noise sputtered from the engine, like an unholy monster.

In Ezra's lofty lifetime of experience in battle, only one thing could be the cause. It was identical to the wounded cry of a Romanian fire demon. She had fought one once in an epic warehouse battle. “Lady Braginskaya, stop the carriage! It is possessed by demons!”

“Oh dear! My father warned me the modern world had such beasts!” Katya exclaimed, stopping the slowed car completely. Grabbing all their weapons and luggage, She then retreated behind Ezra.

“I will have to open the hood and reveal our attacker.” Ezra explained, poking the hood with the end of her ancestral spear.

“I trust your bravery.” Katya replied, well behind her.

With this bolstering her ego, Ezra gave the hood a final hard whack. It popped open, smoke and fire pouring forth. After a minute, the smoke cleared. The car was still on fire, yet quiet. Ezra relaxed her posture, using her spear as a walking stick. “It is no longer possessed, it is only on fire.”

“Well at least we can work with that. I brought American marshmallows we can roast together.” Katya offered sweetly.

“While that's a good idea, we still need to arrive at the safe house on time” Ezra pointed out, “All we need is the directions and good sturdy horses.”

“The map is in the car.” Katya volunteered brightly, pausing to think after. She then frowned as both women backed away from the abandoned vehicle. The entire thing was an inferno now, giving off notable heat.

“Well, we can still travel by the stars once night falls.” Ezra offered apologetically.

“Then let's get walking shall we?” Katya was such an optimist in times of danger and conflict. It was refreshing to work with, even after three months. The walk was largely quiet, the two not needing to talk as often as most. It took all but twenty minutes for travel salvation to appear.

A small herd of horses was in a grassy field. Katya gestured to them quietly, finger to her pursed lips. Ezra nodded, and pulled a festive beach towel out of her back pack. “Saddle.” she whispered, pointing to the towel.

Taking the towel, Katya quietly approached the simple wooden fence just off the road. He clucked her tongue to attract attention, three majestic horses walking over. They investigated her from afar, enticed by a turnip she pulled from her bag. The oddity of lugging around turnips was now entirely justified. Katya wasn't quirky, she was a _genius_.

Soon upwards of three horses were interested in the strange vegetable. They struggled to get a hold of the round object, flicking their tails in hungry impatience. It was akin to an edible soccer ball as they pushed it around in attempts to eat.

Under this ploy, Katya deftly climbed the fence and slung the towel saddle over a tall dappled mare. The beast was beside the fence, biting into the large turnip. It paid her no heed. In a single move of grace, she partially leaped onto the horse. She made her mounted landing, startling the animal. It nickered and moved back in alarm. Holding on by the withers, she hushed it as it accommodated then calmed. Finally, the obedient animal was steered back around via heel pressure on the sides and gentle mane tugs. It was messy handling, but it worked.

“Your turn.” She finally spoke, wearing a cheesy grin.

“You can ride bareback.” Ezra spoke softly, awed.

“Yes, can't everyone?”

“No.” Ezra felt flummoxed by how attractive this was. It had taken every fibre of her morals and honour not to sexual attack her trainee these last months. To find out the woman could tend to battlefield wounds and ride bareback on a horse was too much.

Swallowing any words she might regret, Ezra looked to the other distracted horses. A brown one caught her eye, slightly larger than most. The tall warrior woman was hardly a petite creature, packed with dense muscle. A smaller steed could hold her, but it would be uncomfortable for the poor thing.

Wearing blue jeans, Ezra didn't need a beach towel to protect her legs from rubbing. She simply hauled herself onto the horse... and fell off on the other side due to too much effort. Katya covered her mouth, struggling not to burst into laughter and spook the herd.

Ezra blushed with embarrassment instead of something else for once. “That never happens usually.”

“Of course, of course.” Katya teased in quiet Russian, their standard language. Her English was useless, and she didn't know Hungarian, or Serbian. Russian was the only option. Truthfully, Ezra's English was only polished due to lessons paid for through the SCFD. She much preferred Hungarian or Serbian. They were the languages of her longest serving former employers.

After another attempt, both the women had large powerful horses to carry them. Leaping to freedom, the duo was soon well on their way. “Do you see that?” Katya called out, pointing behind them. The horses practically drove themselves, sticking to the grassy sides of the the old highway.

Ezra glanced back, seeing what all the fuss was about. New Jersey was far behind them, an ominous black cloud forming above it. The clear formation of a dark tornado was underway. “How strange. It looks like the work of witches.”

“Then it is good luck we are not there. I did not bring any protection against evil spirits.” Katya surmised, her horse starting to go a healthy trotting speed.

“You do not need any! I have my blade and my honour to guide us!” Ezra boasted, a smile always threatening to soften her resolve. Katya turned her into a puddle without trying. It was her way, her very power.

“So you keep saying, she who falls off horses!” Katya's laughter was infectious. After recovering, Ezra couldn't stop grinning like an idiot.

“Horseplay aside, we may have to make camp. If I knew what road we needed, we could press on until morning. Alas...”

Katya, pulling slightly ahead, was seen shrugging. The motion was a little entrancing in her tank top. “It is what it is. We will make camp. We do not have a tent proper, but perhaps we can use the towels as blankets.” The plan was as sound as any.

By the time the day was done, their camping plans were more solid. They had found a blue tarp that had flown off the back of a truck, along with a broken rake. A towel was sacrificed to make basic horse bridals without mouth pieces. Steering the horses was almost impossible without two hands otherwise. Thus was a final dilemma.

They need to secure the horses for the night. Katya busied herself with making a tent from the broken rake and truck tarp. Tearing hungry hazel-green eyes away, Ezra clutched the last towel in her hands. “You are anxious.” Katya noted with a glance as she worked. The firelight of their tiny fire cast weak gold light upon them both.

“There is only one beach towel left. If I use it as strips to secure our rides, you will have no saddle tomorrow.” There was a much worse problem as well. Ezra, a tested and worn brunette by now, struggled to behave on a daily basis. Her mental discipline was battered after three months of constant sexual exposure from Katya's power.

“Then make the rope. We will never reach the safe house without horses. I will have to wear my jeans instead.” Katya replied absently, almost done a neat, if small, blue tent. The ash blonde seemed completely unaware of the looming hormonal disaster before her.

“If I do this, we will have to cuddle for warmth... and I... I do not have the strength to resist you in such close quarters.” Ezra admitted bashfully, certain she blushed something fierce.

Katya said nothing as she finished her work, then rolled over a dead tree log for a bench. She sat and looked up in a mix of emotions. “Am I that unappealing?” she finally replied forlornly.

“NO, no, I just... I am supposed to be training you and I...” _I have to masturbate on a daily basis to control myself around you._ “I do not wish to offend you with my... unprofessional manner.” Temptation was Katya, big blue eyes and a big pair of fine breasts. Ezra was a man hating lesbian through and through, and defying her trainee was a personal hell.

“Well. I respect that you've been so professional with me, given what I do. I'm just happy to be training for a real job, where I can do good. I want to be a hero, unlike little brother.”

Still holding two horse bridles, Ezra couldn't sit proper and join her. “Ivan doesn't want to be a hero for the good of the people?”

“No, he just likes the attention. You have to understand... He's an eighteen year old boy who has never seen the world. I'm four years older, and I've travelled far with my father. I'm...”

“You are a mature woman that knows the difference between good and evil.” Ezra supplied her sentence freely, completely understanding.

“Yes, that exactly! I have told him so many times... but I am not his Mama. He only listened to her. Ever since she was murdered, he has been so defiant.” Her frustration with siblings was no mystery to Ezra. She had grown up with four other sisters while training for combat in the Hungarian wilds.

The conversation was comfortable, making Ezra tumble out secrets easily. “Agent Jones was a good agent once.”

“Really?” Katya listened intently.

“Yes. He was actually the very best, recruited right out of school. He was partners with Agent Romano. Those two were the best of friends, always arguing and being foolish. This was back before heroes had to have equal power level partners. Romano was just a normal man with a gun. A soviet spy named Viktor infiltrated SCFD, and befriended Alfred. They were... very close, if you get my meaning.”

Katya nodded while stuffing her face with trail mix from Ezra's bag. All the while, the story went on. “Well, Romano was over for a dinner party Alfred stood him up on. Romano, the father, and the father's lover all in the same car. It was Alfred's car which had been rigged by the spy. That was when the entire car went...” Ezra imitated an explosion with an opening hand and a whoosh of noise.

“No, no way!” Katya exclaimed, seeds going everywhere.

“Yes way! The explosion made a crater in the road. The bodies weren't even intact after. But... ah, Agent Jones became a useless drunkard after that. They executed the spy in the electric chair, but the damage was done.”

Pinching shut the zip lock baggy of trail mix, Katya chatted back. “Can you blame him though? Men in Russia have drank themselves to death over less.”

“Well, I suppose. Agent Williams only became better for it. He's motivated by guilt I suppose.”

“It is hard to believe they are twin brothers sometimes. They barely look alike.”

Ezra nodded in agreement then looked to the towel in her hands. Katya was quick to catch on, standing to look Ezra in the eye. Well, technically look her slightly downward in the eye. Katya was half a head taller than her without heels, which was... hot.

“Well, you best use the towel as rope for the horses. If anything should _happen_ in the meantime, I will be an adult and deal with it.” With this little promise, Katya gave her a quick peck on the lips and prepared to sleep.

Ezra never prepared a rope so fast in her entire life.

00000

It had been two weeks since Toris sent Ezra and Katya off for stress management and training. Normally such times were not a concern. Both agents were known to have great survival skills. In this case, he had every right to worry. They had been sent to a secret location only four hours away by car. The car had been inspected and filled up for the journey, so the obvious agents wouldn't talk to commoners and betray their destination.

_Where the fuck had they gone to that took two weeks?_

He tried to distract himself with Agent Williams's latest investigation reports. That spy, “Lilly”, had got away clean with all files pertaining to the mysterious living “source”. This was not great news, but hardly world ending. Agent Van Den Berg surrendered a duplicate copy of the notes he made. After this, he was also put under oath not to sell any extra copies he had for financial gain. The sticky fingered blonde seemed put out by this.

At least the torrential rain of two weeks ago ended when it did. The partial tornado reported squarely over the SCPD at the same time was hardly coincidence. In Lars's “Maelstrom” days, he was known for such insane antics. The interesting part was that he had never controlled weather so concisely before.

This only supported a theory Toris was writing a scientific paper about. He believed that powers grew or weakened with age, as well as use. It would explained why Lady justice, a mostly typical female, was so powerful. She had been raised by warriors for decades, honed to use every limit her body had. In comparison, Matthew was just a marshmallow with amazing powers.

Agent Heracles, another telepathic man in the department, had started off exactly the same as Williams. Instead of training almost everyday, he was cursed by severe narcolepsy. His power was weak enough now that it only functioned when he slept. Inspired, Toris rolled over to the the typewriter set up in a corner. He began to record his thoughts.

In the middle of a sentence, the phone rang. So much for free time. He rolled back and answered it tersely. “Yes?”

Lady Justice's voice came through clearly, strong and loud. “Good day Lord Toris!”

“It's Director Toris.”

“My apologies, Lord Director Toris. I call you with wonderful news.”

Toris tried to be an optimist, he really did. “What news is that?”

“We have finally remembered your phone number! It took us some time, but here we are talking to you.”

His hope was shattered already. Toris asked the dreaded question. “Where have you been?”

“Well, after the motorized carriage was possessed by demons and burst into flames...” Toris tuned her out slightly, sighing and running a hand through his greying hair. He then tried to listen again. “... was when we realized the map, your number, and the directions were in the glove box. But we were not vanquished! We acquired horses, leaving the car keys as offering. We then rode west for the safe house.”

“The safe house was north of New York City.” Toris dead panned.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, as Ezra and Katya chattered to each other. Finally Ezra spoke once more over the echoing line. “That explains why we are in Wisconsin. Alas, we are low on supplies and money from our crusade for justice.”

Toris squeezed a stress ball for all it was worth, struggling not to explode. He had sent them out with a filled up car, three twix bars, a first aid kit, and anything they wanted to carry or shove in a backpack. “So...” he ground out, “Where are you in Wisconsin?”

“We are at... Dane County Regional airport. We will be outside of it soon, because they didn't like us skinning a deer in the bathroom.”

Toris was certain their inane adventure was spotted with acts of heroism that he could spin into media gold. The fact of the matter was this had taken place outside their defined district. The director's crew and power was almost exclusively tied to the New Jersey area and it's rural communities. Every state the girls had paraded through would be yelling at Toris once they realized who was stealing a native hero's news time.

“Put me on the line with a manager there, and we'll get you plane tickets home.” After twenty minutes of cowing higher up airport staff with FBI level clearance, the two hapless women were due to arrive in at the Newark Liberty International Airport, only an hour away. It was a drive Toris would complete himself, since Felix was easily distracted by shopping.

Toris couldn't wait to retire.


	13. Project Ressurection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oooh look, plot.

Gilbert sat in his grey office with great discontent. All the the past leaders of the USSR were framed in simple red frames on the wall. They stared at the pale military leader, mocked his steady failures. He had lost control of Project Resurrection ten years ago. He had lost his damn arm fighting that cursed Immuno Man shortly after. He had lost his respect as tyrannical military strategist.

Crazy they called him. Obsessed, the workers whispered. Now here Gilbert was, in the most miserable shit filled town the GDR had to offer. The past rule of general secretary Brezhnev had strangled Gilbert's birthplace until it was nothing but hungry workers in grey cubes. It wasn't even worth having on the face of the earth now, drenched with rain from the tears of former Prussians.

The source was the only thing Gilbert could contribute to resurrect the USSR, the central power he had been raised to love. That fucking Mikhail Braginsky had stolen it away in the dead of night like a sneaky fox. He then dropped off the face of the earth for almost eleven years

The albino seeming male glared at the dirty world below with critical red eyes. He brushed metal fingers against the window frame, his other normal arm tucked into a pocket. Gilbert could feel it as he smoked, his life and his career pulling away from him. He needed the source to save himself, and save this place.

“Roderich!” Gilbert shouted in Russian twisted German, his drill sergeant days leaving his voice abused and curt.

With a brief puff of air, the snappy dresser teleported into the room, his grey officer's uniform clean and stiff. Roderich Edelstein, much like Gilbert was among the rare few citizens with powers. All such citizens were required to serve the party the best they could manage, or risk gulag exile. Roderich could teleport short distances, but he was also an accomplished blade and saboteur. He had been Gilbert's top officer since the beginning, keenly obedient.

“Yes commander Beilschmidt?” he greeted with a snap of a two fingered salute.

“Where is the hired agent, the man and his daughter?”

“War Machine and Puppet Master will be here soon. They are currently held up in customs.”

Ah, the fucking border customs. As diligent as they were against western corruption, they took a month of Sundays to do anything. “Kill the fool holding them back if they keep my files waiting.”

“Right away sir.” In a brief vacuum of air, the man was gone. After ten long minutes, Roderich returned with a hand on the shoulder of a stranger. It was the feared mercenary War Machine, true form obscured by a metal battle suit. Blades and pistols graced a bulky Adamantine torso and waist. Shoulder mounted guns and Swiss military stripes topped off the entire get up. The helmet was removed, revealing an unsmiling older blonde. The resemblance to his daughter in black dress was uncanny, their relation obvious.

“Greetings, commander.” The thugs greeted Gilbert in unison with a bow and a dressy curtsy.

“You succeeded in your mission.” Gilbert stated in cold expectation. They always succeeded for him before.

“We did. We retrieved extra files on the people that may be hiding further information. Since you tipped us so well last time.” The father replied, retrieving a thick bundle of papers from some armour compartment. He placed them on Gilbert's barren battered desk.

“A western action I indulge for you only, Vash. Roderich, pay the man.” Gilbert replied, inspecting the notes. Finally, after ten years, his personal research was back in his own pale palms. He dared smile, feeling slightly more whole. He still felt fairly dead inside, but these papers made things... better.

War machine accepted his water cooled briefcase of plutonium with polite patience. “I must be going. I will only have two hours before I need to change the water.”

Gilbert dismissed the lot with a flippant gesture of hands. “Roderich, secure this floor, then take him where he wishes. I will need you afterwards.”

“Yes sir.”

After fifteen minutes of being alone with his life's work, Gilbert was greeted by his best soldier. “Roderich, the files are clearer than my memory. The source, It's in Mikhail's son. There can be no other.”

“Shall I prepare an extraction squad?” Roderich offered blandly.

“No. My budget is... compromised. We will have to be crafty.”

“I suggest Angelique. Her expenses can be bartered away with some reason.”

“She will not accept half depleted plutonium rods as payment, and our food stamps are worthless to the westerners. The only thing she would want...” Gilbert swallowed, looking his safe. It was the last wealth of his grandfather, several bars of Nazi gold from the last great war. They had been slipped out of Berlin by horse cart just before the reds hit the place like a truck.

Eventually, Gilbert's family bent to the red might of Stalin and served him loyally. At this rate, Gilbert would be the last loyalist. They had always found and served the greatest powers available. Without weakness or mercy was the Beilschmidt way.

With a sigh, the pale commander sat in his wooden desk chair. “Very well. She will want three bars, but we can start with one.” He only had seven left. There used to be twenty small bars when he was a boy.

“Of course. We can also use... the asset.” Roderich added nervously. Gilbert looked to him uncertainly, sure he was mad. The asset was seized from a special prison boat crossing the Atlantic just over three years ago. The young man could produce earthquakes strong enough to level towns, and he was angry enough to do it.

Still, Gilbert was in grasp of the source, of resurrecting the dead. Then Vladimir Lenin would be brought back to life and save glorious communism from the bullshit General Secretary Brezhnev had drowned it in. The system would be saved, and Gilbert would be the hero he was born to be. For the glory of the people, for the crestfallen GDR...

“We will use Henri Van Den Berg. We can just kill him after if he disobeys our orders.”

“Yes sir.”


	14. Defying Tradition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANGST WARNING

Kiku Honda preened himself with greater care than normal. Barely twelve hours ago, the boy king of the SCFD had quit without warning. Kiku had never known the man well, but he knew enough. Alfred was a fool of the largest calibre. The twenty two year old had absolute power over metals in a city filled with the stuff. It would be easy to become the greatest hero New Jersey had ever given birth to.

No, Alfred had be to a useless tottering drunk, shorting out machinery and wiping every credit card in the room by breathing. The only heroic mission Alfred had done in two months that wasn't making cages, was pure publicity stunts.

It was Kiku's time to shine! With Agent Braginsky crashing through his own training like an elephant, there was now four high paying vacancies open. This had turned the SCFD into open season, anyone and everyone gunning for the second highest pay in the joint. There was originally six full time hero positions available, but two were already filled.

Predictably, Lady Justice and Lady Love had been offered an international sponsorship from a perfume company. They saved the senator of Wisconsin from a giant rat that survived nuclear waste. It was probably the size of a van. _Lucky_. That was the kind of heroics you got TV deals over. It also made the remaining four slots harder to compete for.

Almost everyone here was office workers that had never gained related field experience. Even Kiku only had combat training due to his weekend karate competitions. He was in passable shape as well, which was not really worth noting. Everyone at the SCFD had to pass yearly fitness and obstacle courses to keep their jobs. This was a super hero training facility of sorts, so no one complained too much.

Agent Williams, the most terrifying man in all of SCFD, emerged from the director's office. There was quiet legends he could enter your mind and _change_ things. He held a clip board, looking neutral as always. A broadcast message was felt in the minds of all fifty agents crammed down the lengthy hall.

' _Attention all applying agents. I will now call out the names of those that qualified. If you do not hear your name, please return to work._ '

The hall was silent, barely a breath uttered. Kiku looked around as men, women, and for some reason, a raven, waited in hope. A voice entered Kiku's mind, softer and kinder than expected. ' _Congratulations, Agent Honda. Please prepare to be interviewed._ '

“YES!” Kiku cheered in his native Japanese, forgetting his usual control. A dozen angry eyes looked to him in grim jealousy. The short black haired male cleared his throat and looked to the floor. Mumbles and soft complaints began to build.

“I... I heard him.”

“You fucking liar!”

“I have what it takes, you just need to give me a chance!”

Matthew rubbed his temples, then glared at the lot of them. ' _ **If your name was not called, go back to work.**_ ' The command was felt in the core of everyone, dark and powerful. It made you feel like a child, small and insignificant. Even Kiku winced and put hands to his ears.

Muttering discontent, all but six applicants remained after filing back to their various departments. Heracles, Kiku's totally awesome frat bro since college, looked to him with admiration. “I didn't make the cut Keeks. You'll have to kick ass without me.”

“No, I can ask for reconsideration, or...” Kiku spoke in the same Japanese, distressed. They were supposed to be heroes together, even if Heracles spent a third of the time napping in the car.

“No man. I'm a narcoleptic psychic. My chances were slim to none. Go knock 'em dead.” The taller bro offered a fist bump. Kiku returned it with respect and sadness.

“I will. I'll let you know how it goes when I pass by accounting.” Kiku promised.

“Cool bro. See you later for sake and karaoke?”

“Always.” Kiku bowed to Heracles in usual honour, then watched him return to the second floor. It was now just five others. Agent Beilschmidt, who ran the yearly fitness tests, was in military greens as usual. Matthias the raven was perched on a coat hook, wearing a smart little business tie for the occasion. Karlos, a deeply tanned fellow that used to work in Cuba, was looking smug in designer shades. Agent Yao, head of the psychic department, tapped his feet in impatience.

Last but not least, was a guy draped in black. He was only slightly taller than Kiku, dripping with heavy metal vibes. Right down to the eye liner and the 'Fuck the police' tattoo on his arm, this guy looked tough. Gosh, Kiku hoped that wasn't a real tattoo.

The metal head looked to the bird on the coat hook incredulously. The bird stared back. “So, they let a bird have an interview.”

Indignant, the bird landed on the floor and puffed up. It cawed and wing flapped in response then turned around and shook itself off.

“I think you offended the bird.” Kiku whispered to the black clothing enthusiast. The man shrugged, and resumed waiting to be interviewed.

One by one, the remaining five agents... and the raven wearing a tie, filed in for individual interviews. Karlos and Yao easily had the shortest visits. The raven's job interview was by far the longest, taking twenty minutes. Finally, the director himself peeked a head out. “Kiku, please come in.” he asked pleasantly.

This was the third time in three years Kiku would directly be spoken to by his boss's boss. Kiku prayed internally to his ancestors he did not fuck up this job interview. The director's office was surprisingly like any other space. There was sparse decoration, the blank white walls silent.

“Please, sit. No need to be a stranger.” Toris spoke, gesturing to a soft chair. Kiku sat, his heart beating fast under a mask of calm. “Tell me, agent. Why do you want to be a hero?”

“With all due respect, Director, It's not about morality. It is simply a job that must be done.” Agent Williams scrutinized Kiku's every word, a pen and clipboard forever on hand. He paused occasionally to jot down short notes.

“Don't mind him. Can you elaborate on that reason?” Toris went on, not nearly as scary as expected.

“Good, evil... they are determined by the task at hand. Is it evil to kill a man? Is it evil to kill a man if he has killed others? None of these things truly matter. What matters is being a hero. Completing a mission to prevent public destruction... to prevent as much pain to the innocent as possible... That is what I think I hero should do.”

“Using a line from anime. That is a first.” Agent Williams physically whispered, an amused smirk on his face.

Kiku beamed but said nothing. He was certain the Director had seen his amazing designs for a protective battle suit. It was copied off a children's TV show.

“A sponsor approaches you. They will give you several million dollars to do a public stunt. At the same time, a major crisis happens across town. You can only get to one event. What do you do?” Toris seemed more serious now, leaning forward with elbows on the desk. Cold eyes watched over hands twined in thought.

“I would go to the public crisis, Director.”

“You would turn down three million dollars?”

“Yes.”

“Ten million?”

Kiku hesitated, only human. He picked his next words carefully. “I would likely attend the public stunt, but use the money to solve the other crisis. Hire additional heroes to fill in, as it were.”

“Your price is higher than expected, but everyone has one. Even me. Don't worry about it.” Toris chuckled, relaxing back into his chair. “Any question you had Williams?”

“Only one.” The deathly quiet agent whispered. He looked to Kiku, _through_ Kiku. “What is your greatest regret?” The words were haunting, laden with meaning from such an isolated figure of authority.

Memories of his baby sister Mei flashed by. In the isolated traditional town Kiku had been raised in, it had been the ancient ritual to trim down female population at the infant stage. This archaic act was all traced back to days of dowry, empire, and family pride. No one ever wanted to pay the brunt of a dowry in sacred marriage, even now, so the girls... vanished.

Kiku had been a naive child, simply assuming more boys was the norm. It was at the tender age of six when he witnessed the truth. He had been sly, escaping the room he and many other children slept in.

In Mother's room, she and the doctors laboured. The summer heat was intense, so much that the modern screen doors had to be opened for fresh air. Kiku could barely see from his distant bush, but he could hear. He strained his ears in excitement for signs of his new sibling. No one else was thrilled by the pregnancy, but Kiku certainly was. He even picked out the name “Mei” in his mind if it was a girl.

In the dim of partial moonlight, there was much muffled screaming from Mother. Finally, there was silence, and new weak cries. Yes! This baby had survived! Kiku would have new brother, or sister, they could play games or... He was pulled from his fancies by disturbing dialogue, barely heard on night breeze.

“No, please don't.” “We can't afford a girl.” “Please...” The rest was lost, but the message was clear. A dark figure was back lit as he carried the squawking baby girl. A glint of moon light, just enough, showed the horror that followed next. The possible doctor submerged the baby in a prepared water bucket carried from inside. All went silent.

Kiku, at present in Toris's office, swallowed a mix of emotions. “I... I regret believing goodness and tradition are the same for as long as I did. They are separate entities, like law or anything else.”

Toris cocked a brow, turning to his convenient mind reader. Williams looked to Kiku in understanding. Kiku could feel it, a ghostly presence brushing against the memory before it dropped back to depths unknown. Was that the mind of Agent Williams?

“No more questions, Director.” the quiet man whispered, back to jotting notes.

Toris smiled, oblivious to the darkness the other two has relived. “Well, I believe that is all. I wish you the best of luck, and we'll let you know if you make the cut.”

00000

The past and future flickered around the grey haired man. Holes where Matthias had pecked the wall too hard, and would peck the walls... speckled around an empty bird cage that currently sported immaculate surface. The undulations of time often clouded Loki's eyes, especially as he explored proverbial beaches and picked up debris of the universe. Drift wood scraps of the truth from ahead, snippets of prophecy.

Perhaps this was why the older agent was so easily gripped by nostalgia. He paced his fully owned condo, quietly unable to process his own mind. He typically did this, he just didn't have to do it alone. That stubborn bird brat had run off, pursuing his own career. After... after... a really long time together...

Loki paused his lamenting of loneliness, unsure how old he was. A man displaced from his original timeline, he had been around for... thousands of years possibly. He used to be so much more lively, a trickster alongside Matthias on viking ship prow. Memory was a finicky thing...

Regardless Matthias had to come back. He always did. The lonely time travellers only had each other. This morose mood still refused to be shaken. Loki sighed something pitiful and settled by an open window with his button accordion. He began to play an old skaldic song of his youth, one Matthias loved.

_Bearing poetry's waves to the shore,_  
_of the war-god's heart;_  
_my course was set._

_I launched my oaken craft_  
_at the breaking of ice,_  
_loaded my cargo of praise_  
_aboard my longboat aft._

_The warrior welcomed me,_  
_to him my praise is due._  
_I carry Odin's mead_  
_to England's meadows._

_The leader I laud,_  
_sing surely his praise;_  
_I ask to be heard,_  
_an ode I can devise._

The song was by viking standards, rather shitty. Matthias had never been one for good taste. It wasn't exactly intended for accordions. Tradition viking age instruments didn't pop up in music shops every day either. A man of Loki's madness and long life learned to adapt. Be it a Germanic weaver, a Byzantine Lawyer, a Victorian priest... he had always scratched out a living. It was only Matthias's pure blinding luck that had saved them from getting burned alive on a dozen occasions.

That lucky shape shifting bastard.

Loki almost fell asleep after 11 pm, waiting while seated for his time locked companion. He startled at a door slamming. It was Matthias, drunk off his ass in black pants and a glossy black shirt. One of his shoes was kicked off with wobbly efforts, the spiky blonde ass hole realizing he was not alone.

The grey haired man glowered at his raven, unimpressed.

“Loki I got, I got the job.” Matthias slurred in a smash of Norse and primitive Danish.

Loki huffed and looked away, not big on words. “Dinner's cold.”

Matthias blinked blearily, tilting his head. “Are you mad?” A cutting pale violet glare was sent his way. “You would have never let me go to that interview naked. You know I'm more comfortable as a bird.”

Loki sulked as he put away his accordion in it's battered metal travel case.

“Oh come on... Say something.”

“Fuck off.” Loki finally hissed, the two of them in the bedroom. There was only a single mattress since Matthias was a bird most times.

“Loki, my trickster, my little buddy.” Matthias drunkenly crooned, unable to stand anymore. He crashed heavily on the bed, giggling like a moron. 

The older of the unusual pair relented his frigid indifference. “Let's get you clean before you transform and puke a case of beer on the floor.” Loki mumbled, tugging the idiot up again. Physics were somehow still a thing magical bird people still had to contend with, unfortunately. “I don't feel good.” Matthias mumbled, draped over Loki's shorter frame as he was half carried to the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, Loki was patting Matthias's back in support. The tall blonde was currently slung over the toilet, clearing out faster than a Black Friday sale. “There there.” Loki soothed, rubbing slow circles in the man's shoulder.

“You're hot, let's fuck.” the drunk mumbled, laying on the cold tile floor.

“If you can walk there.” Loki countered, knowing damn well nothing would happen. Somewhat motivated, Matthias tried to stand.

He managed to sit up, but not much else. “Can't we just have floor sex?” It was hard to stay mad at the lucky raven, forever exuding youth. Loki was stuck at a salty forty years old forever, despite being younger.

“Well. I suppose.” It wouldn't be the first time.

Later, Loki stared sleeplessly at the ceiling in bed. Matthias had passed out cold after fucking him senseless, currently resting as a raven on the blankets. Petting the neat little bundle of black feathers, Loki's mind was troubled by drifting images from the future. He was certain it was the future this time.

Like faint water colour paintings, they intensified and formed an image of disaster. New Jersey, nothing but rubble and fire. A familiar man stood in the centre of it all, holding a dead Agent Van Den Berg in his arms. It was the dead man's insane brother, Henri, openly weeping. You rarely forgot a man that crazy.

The vision rippled once more, showing that damn cow Ivan had dragged from Soviet Russia. Loki had been dreaming of it for weeks. The bovine was in all his most possible disaster dreams, even several doomsday prophecies that fluttered by like stray insects. Life was essentially on a knife edge, and Loki had come to calmly accept this fact. Seeing the end of the world was a blase weekly occurrence now

That studious Toris fellow would probably need to know about this now. There was the usual risk of making a prophecy self fulfilling by discussing it. Still, it was unnatural to dream of the same cow thirty seven times. Very unusual, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Japan... yeah. That really happened. It still might.


	15. Flights of Fancy and Wisdom

Lars could not be happier. After four weeks of frantic efforts, he had finally returned almost every stolen object from his apartment. Granted the place was now empty, but he did as ordered. Now, finally, Lars was going on a date with Matthew. That boy and his hot body, which was definitely maybe gorgeous.

Not everything could be returned. Anything the sticky fingered man had worn, or been commando in, stayed in his closet. The couch stayed, because a real man needed a leather couch. The two bunnies, Miffy and Money, were firmly in his heart now. They stayed now and forever. Other than that, there was only the crappy TV set left. Hooked on trash television during his three years in prison, Lars was a man of habit. He wouldn't get a single article of clothes on until he saw his morning dose of 'Good Morning America'.

“Goddamn you, Tom Brakow. You can tell me any news you want.” Lars murmured, finally tearing his gaze from the screen to change. Well, apparently he was attracted to any neutral authority in a grey suit. That was just fucking fantastic.

Still, Matthew was different. He smelled faintly of apples. Lars wanted to run his hands through his boss's wavy locks, and maybe braid them. Did Matthew use apple scented shampoo? Was he a body wash or a soap bar man? Oh how Lars craved to be the lucky suds that sluiced off Matthew's skin. Glancing at the time on his stolen wristwatch, he pondered if he had the luxury to indulge this fantasy.

' _Lars! I swear to god if we're late for work because you masturbated, I'm going upstairs myself to get you._ ' Matthew entered his mind gently like always, faint little pinpricks of warmth.

“Really?” Lars asked a little breathlessly, still half naked. He looked out the window, eagerly spotting his romantic interest and parole officer.

' _Not that way, more like... never mind. Can you deal with yourself and get down here in twelve minutes? I hate being late._ ' Predictably, Matthew looked away from the apartment complex. His cute butt was finally in view. Lars devoured the sight, kicking off his pants. He could probably swing that time limit.

Later, the duo was up to the usual in Matthew's office. They had hit a brick wall in the whole “source” mystery. That crazy Russian geneticist had shoved this mystery energy source in one of his kids. He must have. Katya had been tested forwards and backwards by the lab on floor three. Ivan had given a few blood samples before he ran off to Florida with a misguided Alfred.

There was nothing left to test or look into. They had a loose idea of what the source was, a strengthening protein that had to be produced. There lay the problem. If this fancy protein source had be eaten, where was it coming from? How could two clearly ordinary Russian children have become so powerful? Their blood work showed none of the usual signs of super powered offspring.

“I don't even know where to look anymore.” Matthew finally admitted, leaning back in a beanbag chair of his own. He dropped papers to the wayside, relaxing. “I even looked in Katya's head. I got nothin'.”

“There has to be, I mean... This is the shit that gives anyone powers. It must be somewhere. Three dictatorships killed a ton of people to get this going.” Lars replied, just as frustrated. The two then looked each other. “So uh, hear anything about your brother and Ivan?”

“Alfie left me a message on the answering machine. He's going to work at Disney World for minimum wage. Ivan wants to be Mickey.” Matthew was very unimpressed by the stupidity of the human race right now.

“He quit being a superhero... to work for three dollars and thirty five cents at Disney World.” Lars was astonished a man could be so stupid.

“Magic Kingdom.” Matthew replied sarcastically, making air quotes with his fingers. 

“Well... Let's hit up the psychic department. Maybe they can fish something up.” Lars got up with a heave of his upper body. Helping Matthew out of his own bean bag trap, they walked along with no particular rush. Lacking any leads at all, they truly had nothing at all to accomplish.

Originally in charge of chasing down cold cases, Matthew was here on a weekly basis. This was when Toris wasn't calling him for petty shit constantly. Lars certainly thought the requests were petty. Psychic department leader Yao, still disgruntled about being rejected for a hero position, only glared at Matthew as he passed. The blonde crumpled a little but pushed on, disturbed he was so hated this week.

Lars wanted to comfort the man, but the workplace was a social minefield. Homophobic behaviour was still largely acceptable. There wasn't much more you could really expect from 1987. Instead, Lars thought reassuring images as he followed. A faint prickle of thought tickled his conscience, followed by ' _Thanks._ '

“No problem” Lars replied easily, certain he might blush if he betrayed any more emotion. Their date was so close he could already feel it in his bones. Finally, they found Loki's chaotic office. It was cluttered to high heaven, animal skulls and carved totems on the walls. A functional accordion was displayed on a shelf, much to the ire of the entire fourth floor.

“Hey weirdo.” Lars greeted simply, used to this bizarre seer and his decorations.

“Hello thieves.” Loki greeted gruffly, not looking up from a report he was filling in. The man despised his mind being interacted with by Matthew, one of the few aware enough to feel it. Lars was hated due to stealing Loki's snow globe from Helsinki.

“I gave you back the snow globe.” Lars muttered, so over this bull shit.

“We're here because –” Matthew was cut off immediately.

“I'm fucking psychic. I know why you're here. You don't have any leads again.” Loki sure was bitchy today. He was probably still mad about his bird getting a promotion.

Both men looked to the seer expectantly, question in the air. “Well?” Lars finally prompted.

“I'm not a vending machine! Let me finish this report!” Loki growled. Matthew said nothing on the sound level, waiting with twiddling thumbs. Lars bounced a leg as he sat beside the cute blonde, bored out of his mind. A shiny button caught his kleptomaniac eye. The sticky fingered blonde was immediately slapped on the wrist by his sharp eyed boss. Damn it all for having a mind reading parole officer.

Matthias the raven flapped into the room, landing on the antler of a mounted elk skull. “Loki! Loki! Loki! Loki! Loki! Loki! Loki!” The bird cawed and screeched in pure joy.

“What! Out with it!” Loki yelled, looking up. He filed the form as he did so, finished with his mundane task.

“I did training with that Tino guy. He's so cool, did you know he can raise the dead as zombies? Then I drank a can of soda too fast, then I found a penny! Wow we have visitors! Hi new people!” On and on the bird cawed, flapping playfully as he spoke.

“Don't mind Matthias, he can get energetic.” Loki offered, with absolutely no sincerity.

“So he got the job. Congratulations.” Lars noted, settling for conversation to numb his boredom.

Loki dropped the pen in his hands, eye twitching. “You... understand what he's saying.”

“Well yeah, I can talk to all ravens.” Lars explained simply.

“That's fascinating.” Matthew spoke softly, smiling.

“Don't get too excited. I can only talk to ravens. You can talk to anything.” The black clad agent shrugged. It really wasn't a big deal. There was hardly ever any ravens around to help Lars, and most of them were total douche bags.

“That's cool!” Matthias replied loudly.

“So... why are you missing an eye?” Loki was acting weirder than usual. He was being _polite_.

Lars thought about it a long moment, and decided to share. The psychic people probably knew to some degree. “Well, I cut it out.” He realized how insane that sounded. “I had a really good reason at the time.”

“Oh wow that's just like –” Matthias had a pen tossed at him in interruption. He cawed and puffed up in indignant manner, like all birds do.

“Okay, out out out! I have work to do.” Loki was suddenly rushed, eager to push them out the door.

“But you never gave us any information.” Matthew noted, pouting slightly in his neutral way. Christ, everything he did was adorable.

“Protect the cow. Now get out.” Loki insisted, throwing a ball of paper at his bird to distract it.

“Cow? What cow? I don't... Oh my god. Oh my god we forgot about the cow.” Lars rambled, feeling like an idiot. Matthew tilted his head, then gaped a little.

' _Holy shit we never tested the cow._ ' Matthew mentally cursed, covering his face in shame.

“Where is it now?”

' _Since Ivan left, The SCFD's been keeping it with Felix's ponies._ ' With that last mental note, they ran off to find their new lead. This mystery would be revealed!

00000

Loki couldn't believe Matthias. That sneaky two timing bird bastard! When the nosy investigators had finally run off, he let out scathing line. “You did cheat on me in the seventh century! I knew it!”

“We were drunk off mead on the Elbe! It was a big boat! You were mister grabby hands with that Saxon wench!” Matthias argued via caws and body language.

“I swear, if that's a reincarnated Odin you fucked into existence indirectly... I'll throw the tuna casserole right out the window.”

“I'll eat it off the sidewalk! Besides how can I possibly be related to that cool dude? I'm sure lots of people cut their eyes out, and have lightning powers, and a bunch of other neat stuff.”

Loki looked at his boyfriend of over a thousand years in pure exasperation. “There really really isn't. I'm getting him tested.”

The raven flapped to the desk in genuine panic, pleading. “You really don't have to, I mean... He's not mine, totally. Right? Let's just... relax!”

“Oh no. The only guy in New Jersey with your spiky ass hair, jawline, height, _that can naturally talk to shape shifters_ , is totally not yours. I swear, we can't go anywhere nice without encountering one of your great great great grandchildren.” The greying man went on sarcastically. All it took was knocking up a few girls on a raid, and suddenly the future was polluted with your descendants. The life of an immortal traveller never happened how you planned.

Matthias meanwhile, preened nervously on his perch.


	16. Like A Virgin

The world was a nightmare in this exact moment.

Matthew had crashed after a long day of work. Most of the afternoon was spent trying to convince a belligerent cow to get in a travel trailer. The cow was having none of it. Even with soothing mental images projected by Matthew, the beast only answered with distorted pictures of Katya or Ivan in question. The beast was still being cared for by Katya in the mornings, clearly seeking her.

After helping, then laughing at Matthew's expense, Lars finally found... cow handing people. Or something. Matthew didn't do country stuff. Cow now headed off for testing, the wavy blonde was done for the day. He headed home, stripped off his hot work suit, and collapsed in a fluffy beanbag chair before the TV.

A few taped episodes of Robotech would soothe his stress away. Hand in a bag of Cheetos, this was his little paradise of cartoon tapes and show posters. Anime, Soviet cartoons, clay animations, Matthew collected it all. It was the only thing he had to himself. This moment of cheesy puffs and glorious animation was _his_.

Paradise became a nightmare instantly. There was a knock at the door. Matthew didn't have friends, why was anyone there at all? Oh shit, was this a robbery? 

“Hey, ready to go?” Lars called through the barrier. It was so much worse, _a date_. Fuck, a date. The thing Matthew had never done in his whole life. He didn't know how to dress, or have any nice clothes. He was going to kill Lars by accident. Oh god, oh god...

Matthew curling up in his beanbag chair and hyperventilating was interrupted. “It's time to have fun!” Lars went on.

“You can't. You can't. I'll... I'll kill you by accident... My place is a mess... I look horrible, this isn't a good time..” As Matthew sputtered excuses, he failed to get up in hasty manner. Damn you sand trap of a bean bag chair! Lars being Lars, he picked the lock in under ten seconds and let himself in.

“Oops.” Lars offered insincerely, kicking the door shut behind him. He then smiled, which was rare, and rather pretty. He took good care of his teeth. “Wow you are a giant nerd.”

Matthew tried to hide behind his value size Cheetos bag. Maybe he had five shelves of limited edition merchandise for a dozen different franchises. Maybe he only owned casual clothes with cartoon brands on them. Maybe he only had three non-work outfits, and was almost nude in his spider man boxers.

“I'm... I'm... Look away, or something. I'm barely covered.” Matthew stammered anxiously, his fear spiking.

“If that's what you want to wear on our night out, I'm not complaining.” Lars teased.

“This is not happening! This is not! I can't... I can't do this. Stop watching me!” Finally Matthew escaped to his room, blushing madly. Slamming the door, he sat against it so Lars couldn't get in.

“I returned all my stolen stuff, I swear. What else do I need to do?” The other man was clearly on a mission.

“I... I just can't okay?”

There was a cluck of a tongue, then a groaning shift of weight down the door. It was obvious Lars was on the other side. “Was I too much, or... Are you not that way or...”

“No... no it's me. I can't date.” Matthew admitted morosely, once more a little ball of sad.

“What do you mean?”

“Every person I touch gets headaches. Someone almost... died because of me. I can't risk it.” Matthew spoke softly of fear, straight from the soul.

There was a chuckle. “You've touched me twice and I haven't died.”

“That was for a second. I touched you for a second.”

“But, I didn't die.” After not getting a response, there was a sigh. “Why don't you just... try. Show me what happened. I can survive a second, right?”

Pausing another refusal, Matthew opened the door a crack. “Only... only one second.”

There was kindness in Lar's remaining green eye. Anyone but a mind reader would miss it. “Just one second. I'll say if it hurts.” He assured, full of charisma.

Like a scared rabbit poking out of a burrow, Matthew peeked his head out. Lars was there in full black attire, a shocking orange tie as per usual. The guy made dressing like a bond villain quite snazzy. Tentatively, Matthew touched an index finger to Lar's cheek, falling into his own dark ocean of memories. He hated this place, without light yet burning with information.

Images formed like eclectic puzzles. Flashes really. Anything having too much form would fry Lars like an egg in a microwave. Banners of a glittering prom night in a gym. It was an 'under the sea theme', well suited to the excesses of 1981.

More jumps in time occured, minutes to an hour. Matthew, shy and reclusive by a punch bowl, eyed a pretty girl well across the room. They knew each other well enough from two shared classes. She came over. The scene jarred forward.

Things were going well. Matthew's first kiss, cheered on by other tenth graders. It was magic on the dance floor, it was wonderful, everything he could have dreamed of. In the high of emotion, their chapped lips parted. She fell to the floor unconscious, limbs splayed like a rag doll. Everyone screamed in horror, dozens of eyes looking to him.

The rest of the memories went by like grainy photographs. The girl took three days to wake up from her coma. When she did rejoin the living, there was days of memory vanished from telepathic overload. She had to take therapy to walk due to brain damage.

Matthew's world grew a little smaller every day after that, a little darker. He turned to TV for companionship when his family wasn't around. He pretended the radio stations were talking to him, and him alone. Never again did he touch another without gloves, not when it could be helped. Never again did he flirt, or laugh, or cry. It was not worth the risk. After the death of Dad and his french lover in a car bomb, Matthew's world became a self inflicted tomb of isolation.

Only TV and work was left, with Alfred abandoning him for Florida.

The connection was severely sharply as Lars pushed the finger away, gasping. “That... That was a lot to process.” He mumbled, eye wide.

Matthew's chest tightened in cold loneliness. “Do you understand why you have to leave? I kill everything I touch. Everyone I loved is dead or ran away.”

“Now just hold on a minute. How can you even know if that will happen again? You can't just stop living a life.” Lars stood and pushed his way into the room. Matthew flattened against an opposite wall fearfully. “We'll clean you up and head out, and you'll realize you're not a walking nuclear bomb.”

Scrambling away without thought, Lars pursued Matthew quickly. Considerably stronger, the ex-con soon pinned Matthew under superman logo patterned blankets on the bed. The weaker man kicked and squirmed like a panicking rat, completely scared.

“Stop – Ow! I'm trying to hug you!” Lars grunted, socked in the jaw. Matthew trembled beneath him while curled up tightly, pupils reduced to pinpoints in terror. “Now, just... see? This isn't so bad.” Matthew was pulled onto Lars's suited lap and squeezed carefully. Not having been hugged since Dad died, the man momentary forgot what was going on. It took a second to realize he wasn't being crushed.

“You know... I do this with my bunnies. They get scared too.” Lars mused to himself, ruffling what little hair poked out the tops of the covers. It took a long time for Matthew's gasping breaths to calm, his form still as taut as over.

“Relax, just breathe.” Lars whispered. Matthew wanted to, his frayed telepathic condition barely contained. He yearned to feel the residual warmth of someone without pesky sheets in the way. Still the terror of causing another coma loomed.

“I... I can't I'll kill you, I know I will.” Matthew whispered, rolling over enough to look up with teary violet eyes. He could already feel tendrils of thought, of suppressed human need, leaking from his locked down state. Lars must have felt it, for a heady blush coloured his cheeks.

Lars smiled. “I think I can take a little heat. I'm immune to lightning.” With that, the smooth talker gently kissed Matthew on the lips. It was a soft sensation, nothing graphic. Matthew's heart pattered as he melted under so much positive attention.

It was enough to burst the banks of long compartmentalized emotion. Sexual need, fear, joy, hunger, curiosity, obsession... Every feeling went everywhere like chaos as Matthew ached for more human companionship. Rational procedure shredded, he kissed Lars again and again until he felt dizzy, joyful, sad, and relieved. Until his lungs burned for air, until Matthew's remaining sanity evaporated.

Matthew's gut fluttered with emotion, almost all of it unrecognized. He wasn't used to feeling so much! They tangled on the bed, panting and clinging closely as they made out like horny teens. The telepathic entanglement of equally lustful souls grew more intense as they pawed at each other. Without warning Lars fell off the narrow bed, obviously dizzy. Matthew froze up, apologies falling out of him at rapid pace

“I'm so sorry, emotion just got the better of me. I should have contained it better, I'm so sorry!”

There was only a humoured laugh in response. “I'm... I'm fine, I'm just so close to wrecking my pants it's insane.” Lars confessed, looking rather red faced in his fancy suit. There was an angry looking tent in his pants, seams of black fabric pulled tight over pronounced reactions.

“Oh... Oh I'm... I'm sorry.” Matthew mumbled, hiding a full body blush under his blankets. A virgin in all respects, he wasn't entirely sure if anything could be done. He barely touched himself, suppressing sexual need for upwards of eleven months at a time.

“I need to use your bathroom, then we can... get you ready to go.” Lars spoke, barely managing himself as he moved.

It was no good. The second lust was contained, joy would break free. Matthew couldn't return to his previous state, no matter the effort. He had feared the emotional chain reaction that would follow if his guard was ever tested. Violently bounding between tears, laughter, and bubbly happiness, the normally restricted man was falling apart.

Lars emerged shortly after this started. He resumed petting a partially limp Matthew. Six years of bottled up feeling coloured the place in chaotic telepathic energy. “I'm sorry, I can't stop it.” Matthew whimpered, sobbing all over Lar's nice satin lapels. After a time of being rocked and petted in fluffy blankets, the taller agent smirked at him. 

“You touched me for six seconds, and I didn't die.”

Finally calm enough to function, Matthew nuzzled his chest. “You stubborn bastard.”


	17. Daddy's Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> >:-D

“So. You've never had sex. You've never been on a roller coaster. Have you done anything?”

Lars had been offended and intrigued after Matthew's emotional melt down. Beyond that, Lars understood Matthew didn't _own_ casual clothes that were good enough for the public. Here they were on the roof during a fine autumn evening. Determined to make the date happen, Lars was not discouraged. It was a New Jersey roof top picnic complete with the best burgers in a three block radius.

“I've done plenty. I'm a secret agent, and I'm educated... and I go out for ice cream, sometimes.” _Never_. He never went out, for fear of overloading the public. When Matthew was tired, his strict control had a tendency to slip.

“Bullshit. Name a movie you've seen in the past six years... that was wasn't off your TV.” Matthew's response was cut off before he could reply. Lars went on, putting an arm around his date. “We are going to take you out, go shopping... An arcade. We're going to one of those.”

Matthew cleared his throat nervously. He didn't even know how to start on any of that nonsense. It was best to change subject, for his own rescue. There was a few questions burning in his mind as well. “So, you've never ever passed out from any of my telepathy?”

“Well, the medical guys at my check up said my brain was fine, because... the water it sat in... hormonal balance was okay... I... I don't remember. I was distracted, maybe.” Lars rambled, exploratory hand near Matthew's ass.

“May I enter your mind and see for myself?” Matthew asked, hovering a hand over the man's right temple. Uncaring about the fondling of his once fitness tightened behind, Matthew ignored it. He had been avoiding human contact so long, he welcomed it now.

“Sure, don't break anything.” Lars joked. Matthew offered a sweet smile, then focused his efforts. Lars's mind was nebulous with a watery core of memories and personality. With great care, Matthew slipped into the murky unknown of another. It was exactly like swimming against the tide, although less trouble than usual. A target being willing made the whole process less arduous.

“It tickles.” Lars mumbled.

Casually running mental fingers over recent memories as they flowed by, Matthew smiled. In this telepathic haze, it was more an impression of amused joy. Finally, the medical check up from last month was accessed. Formed memories didn't actually change with time. A person's ability to recall the memory was what faltered with time and age.

Matthew entering a nearly perfect impression of the SCFD medical offices was quite ordinary. Any parts of the office Lars was interacting with was skewed, but the rest was fine. It was actually a composite, consisting of several memorized visits. In this misty head space, the scant few words Lars read on the medical report were clear.

Lars's immunity to electricity was not a true one. Much like aluminum planes, he was transferring the energy away too fast for it to cause damage. Brains ran off of electricity, just like modern machines. Matthew's own brain frying levels of telepathy technically registered as energy waves. Lars's body was actually feeling and sometimes acknowledging the telepathy. Ultimately, it was shed like water off a duck, the same as storm induced static.

Outside of the odd migraine to keep him in line, Matthew could not kill Lars with his powers. A rather dirty thought came to mind. _He might get laid_. Blushing fiercely, Matthew withdrew into his own self again. Never. Never would he have such a luxury, to feel such treasures. He couldn't, not without making the other participant a drooling useless mess the rest of their life.

Lars shook his head as if to rid of a fly while Matthew hid his face in his hands. “I will never ever get used to that.” Lars set his burger down on it's foil wrapper, then leaned in to kiss Matthew. The other man almost dropped his food, leaning away.

“No I'll fry your brain.” Matthew sputtered, unable to tear hungry gaze away.

“From joy? I'll take it.” Lars was not shying away from his mission. He hugged Matthew from behind, dragging him onto his lap. Kissing the back of Matthew's neck, Lars mumbled “Don't you wanna have fun?” in Dutch, his native tongue.

By god, Dutch was the only language Lars sounded sexy in. Matthew squeezed his burger as his neck was kissed. Another wandering hand petted his inner thigh. A hole in time worn sweat pants was explored with two fingers, grazing near sensitive loins. “I... I don't want to hurt you.” he whispered, feeling his willpower erode away. Blushing, he threw the burger aside before it crumbled in his hands.

“You won't.” Lars whispered back in pure seduction.

Matthew hesitated, feeling years of unresolved lust simmer within. He dared to smile, stroking Lars's wandering hands. “Well... I... I maybe... could...”

A howling wind interrupted the temptation of Matthew. Roof top gravel began to move about from the forces of weather. The powerful telepathic man could feel it as sure as the sharp drop in temperature. Hidden in advancing cloud systems approaching from the shore, was a great evil. Duty called once again, for Matthew was hero material. He had long qualified for the role, but turned it down twice.

Matthew stood with purpose, sloughing Lars off easily. “It's time to work.”

“No, we were going to... _goddamn it_.” Lars cursed, quite angry.

“Look!” Matthew pointed to the dock area of the city. There was a vague shape in the clouds as it passed the first rows of industrial buildings. Howling wind and snow was emitted by the aircraft, beginning to dust the autumn coloured city white.

“ _God fucking damn it!_ Fine! Let's go be heroes!” Lars cursed in Dutch, exactly like a bond villain would behave in this moment. They went back to the apartment on the fifth floor, a work only radio crackling like mad. The wall mounted rotary phone was going off as well. While Lars shut off the radio, Matthew answered the phone. He didn't even have time to reply in greeting.

“Get to HQ right now Williams!” It was Toris, actually yelling. Matthew was a little stunned by the volume of it. “We need all supers at base NOW. We are about to get invaded!”

“Invaded? Sir, what do you mean, invade – ” The line went dead as the power in the apartment flickered. The room went black, all electrical hum removed. It created an eerie silence not many New Jersey City dwellers had known for decades.

“This seems bad.” Lars commented, lighting the room poorly with electric static in his hands. The little bolts cast harsh white flashes of light as they jumped between his fingers.

“We need to get to base.” Matthew ordered sternly. He put on a fluffy house coat and a toque with snow boots, well aware that winter was cold. The air ship, or whatever it was, was drifting right for the SCFD and probably icing everything up.

“You look ridiculous.” Lars teased, as they locked up. They had five floors of stairs to get started on before they could reach the car.

“We need to get down stairs as fast as possible and – Hmph! Put me down!” Matthew protested, tossed over Lars's shoulder with only a minimum of effort.

“Maelstrom express!” Lars joked, leg already half out a hall window at the end. He was getting better at controlling his falls with wind, but it wasn't a exact science. Matthew's stomach lurched from worry as he covered his eyes. The height they were descending was dizzying to him. He only dared look when he was set partially on the ground. The pitch black of the powered down city was almost intimate, even as people were seen fumbling through the streets with flashlights. They might as well have been drunk fireflies in the privacy of it all.

“Agent Van Den Berg, I'm ordering you not to die when we get there.” Matthew whispered, daring to lean close in public.

“I'll try my best not to. We still need a real date.” Lars responded in turn, pressing a smile to the crown of Matthew's head. Ever so shyly, the shorter man felt for Lars's torso and hugged it. A soft peck on the lips, a bare exchange of affection. It was the start of something Matthew didn't understand well, and it was as scary as it was hopeful.

Getting into the older agency car after feeling around, the boys were on the move. Matthew was trained to be a polite and kindly person in all matters. This included driving. Today was the rare occasion that he threw aside traditional family courtesies. There was people to save!

After ripping around corners of partially empty streets, Matthew blew through three traffic lights without regard for the law. He was technically above, or equal to the law. Lars was flattened in his seat. It was difficult to tell if this was due to terror, or the forces produced by sharp turns. “You can maybe not run red lights.” Lars suggested anxiously, gripping his seat belt with white knuckled fists.

“We have to get to base and stop the invasion.” Matthew replied calmly, unaffected by adrenaline. He transferred to an open stretch of sidewalk, passed three wrecked cars, then launched the car into the air off a tilted stack of sheet metal. It landed with a solid crunch in the middle of the road, tires smoking a little as the vehicle regained its momentum. Once more going twice the speed limit, Matthew started chatting.

“So, I'll need you to contain any threats. I will start evacuating people... connect with higher ups and see what's going on. After that... You're not peeing yourself are you?”

“N-no.” Lars stammered. _Almost_ , his brain betrayed him.

With a final screeching slide, the old Chevrolet stopped. Matthew climbed out of the car, pulling out his gun. “Ok, let's roll. I need some light.”

“Oh sweet ground.” Lars fell out of the car on wobbly legs, hugging a lamppost gratefully. It turned on, fuelled by the residual charge of his body. Matthew took advantage of this, firing six shots with no hesitation into the streets. All six shots met their mark in the heads of enemy soviet soldiers marching towards them. Two bullets ripped through multiple targets.

“How the fuck did you do that?” Lars babbled, finally standing.

“I predict where they go with telepathy. So, this street is clear. There's at least sixty threats that way, I need to start evacuating right now. Can I trust you agent?” Matthew spoke with soft urgency.

“Y-yes, Sir.” Lars replied, giving a weak smile.

Matthew had no time to waste. He could only try to save as many citizens as possible. His ridiculous fluffy house coat fluttered in the wind as he jogged along. Pausing only to reload his 9 mm pistol, he picked off four more soviets in the streets. Only two even managed to draw their own weapons. The ice was starting to creep in like claws raking the pavement. Biting wind tried to steal away his fluffy red and white toque.

He barely felt any remaining civilian minds as he progressed. Good. The psychics from work must have chipped in their part in this mighty battle. This saved Matthew a great deal of stress already.

Matthew was only a block from work. Already he could hear explosions and the exchange of bullets. Frightened, Matthew picked off two soviet snipers on a roof as he rounded the corner. With only nine bullets left, he would have to be careful. Ducking behind a series of frozen garbage cans, he was surprised to bumped into Agent Loki. The man was shivering fiercely as he struggled to load his own pistol. It was partially frosted with icicles off one side.

“T-t-the alpha target is around the c-c-corner. I can't get passed him to deliver tactical prophecy.” Loki's teeth chattered as he spoke, finally fumbling and dropping the empty pistol. Matthew snatched the bullet magazine greedily, pocketing it in his housecoat.

“Give me the message, then head to my car and warm up. Its near the bakery on fifth. I eliminated the threats along the way.” Matthew ordered, not giving a damn about pecking order right now.

“Yes-s-s that s-sounds fine.” Loki chattered, touching Matthew through his thin winter hat. It was enough of a connection to steal images of future troop movements. It was a snippet of what was to come, two groups of soviet paratroopers surprising the director and taking him hostage. With that, Loki stumbled and shivered off to the haven of functional car heaters.

Matthew could feel it all. There was at least a hundred warring minds a block over. The SCFD was barricaded like a great castle, with the happy cow in the basement. Finding the pink signature of Felix's personality, he reached the man.

' _I do apologize for forcing myself upon you, but this prophecy Loki needs delivered is very important_.' Matthew apologized politely through the tenuous link, before forcing the prophecy upon his poor chosen tool.

Having no time to check up Felix's reaction, Matthew dashed out from behind the garbage cans. The road was empty, yet the wind screamed as it stabbed snowflakes into the skin. A figured walked out from another alley way, dressed in soviet greys and black. He bore a mighty commander's cap and a dozen medals of honour, all crusted with frost.

“Hello little American. Maybe you will know where my boss's source has gone?” The man greeted with a sickly gravel tone in Russian. He had the teeth of a smoker, and the eyes of a killer.

Matthew sucked in a breath, then uttered “Damn it.”

It was General Winter, the greatest superhuman the soviet union commanded. The world trembled before his icy boots, a product of nature and mad science. His wintry weather control was legendary. Now Matthew had to face the monster alone. He needed a miracle more than ever!


	18. Odd Introductions

The parking lot of the SCFD had become a war zone. A dozen dead soviet soldiers lay draped over the hastily erected sandbag walls. Felix and all the fake postal workers were in the first floor. They were all secret military, tending to the increasing numbers of wounded. Yao, head of the psychic department, had neutralized all enemy gunfire by advancing time on the ammunition.

With all the bullets rusty and unstable after ten minutes, the street had broken into brawling. Those that lacked melee skills attempted to flee or perished. There was only thirty or so enemy soldiers left, but it was clear they were... changed. Stronger, faster, and resistant to mind control. The bloody scene was one of destruction, of conflict, and doom.

This was the great battle Ezra had been prepared for since she was a child. The sky was an angry slurry of snow and rain, skies black with violent intent. The earth shook, and lightning arced off roof tops and streets lamps like a lithe serpent. Now was Ezra's time, her moment to stop Armageddon! Her prayer was whispered as he struck down the enemy, so focused on battle it had become meditation.

 _Artemis, goddess of the hunt, I seek your brutal blessing. For this I offer the blood of my enemies._

_Athena, goddess of wisdom, I seek your great wisdom in battle. For this I offer the blood of my enemies._

_Freya, mother goddess of kindness, I seek your comfort of victory. For this I offer the blood of my enemies._

_Ostara, goddess of spring, I seek survival to witness your season. For this I offer the blood of my enemies._

Ezra's matriarch ruled warrior tribe had approached religion like a cheap lottery. If you only bought tickets for one jackpot, you might not win. If you bought a dozen tickets for a dozen different jackpots, you had a better chance of success. In this fashion Ezra's people paid homage to literally any female patron they could get information about. They played the odds on a divine level, and received blessing more often than not.

Ezra rattled off her favourite thirty or so patrons of choice as she cut through men like tender steak. Arcs of human blood flew in homage and the crowds of attacking males thinned to only three super soldiers. Her ragged panting grew, her deadly meditative stance beginning to wane. Nearly solid crimson with the half frozen blood of others, she had been fighting at breakneck pace for twenty minutes. Unlike many others at the SCFD, Ezra's only power was weak tissue regeneration. Fact of the matter was, she had very human if extraordinary limits.

Ezra was getting exhausted, and these three genetic monsters were clearly stronger than her. Onward she prayed, dodging and weaving between their clumsy strikes. She might die soon if a goddess, _any_ goddess at all, didn't answer her requests. Onward she mumbled between gasps of pain.

_Saranyu, goddess of storms, I seek your protection. For this I offer the blood of my enemies._

_Cybele, goddess of the earth, I seek your shelter. For this I offer the blood of my ene –_

The earth rumbled loudly once more, as a cacophony of blinding lightning rained down on her attackers. Ears ringing and vision burning, Ezra finally let herself collapse. “Praise the goddesses, praise them, in their glory of the highest.” She rambled, starting to feel a little woozy from blood loss. She sensed being carried via touch. Wounds touching artificial plastic fabric stung badly. Her acute hearing began to recover as she dared open her hurting eyes.

It was blurry as all hell, but she was clearly in the warehouse floor with other wounded agents. A brown haired blob was above her, dressed in an ugly shade of green. The faint whiff of Felix's terrible cologne was the final clue. “Director Toris, where... where is Katya.” Ezra wheezed, trying to stand again, she could barely sit up.

“Stay still Agent! You directly disobeyed orders, and ran out there alone. There was a hundred soldiers out there!” Toris berated, his voice cracking slightly with emotion.

“We must pray to the goddesses for Katya's return.” Ezra whispered, on the absolute verge of passing out.

“You need to stop moving so the doctor can pull a knife out of your leg.”

“Anagolay.... goddess of lost things, I seek Katya's safe return. For this I offer...” Blindly in pain, Ezra felt a nasty cut on her arm. The burning hot motion left her fingers wet with her own blood. “... I offer my own blood.” The room began to fade to black.

00000

Katya's life was never one of struggle. Those that didn't instantly love her were always very willing to help. She had assumed the best of humanity for so long, only for hero training to open her eyes. She has seen people threaten to shoot each other over money of all things! Of course, the bank robbers from last month had become pliant and sweet upon Katya entering the room. She was slowly getting better at controlling her aura with pure will. It could be cranked down from dizzying sexual levels to being helpful in the platonic extreme.

When Katya and Ezra finally arrived ten minutes late from patrol, the SCFD was in chaos. There was deadly fighting in the streets with guns, knives and super powers. The ground thundered along with the sky as slushy rain splattered over the bodies of the wounded. Screams of battle echoed amidst the bleeding human ruin.

“Oh... Oh my god.” Katya uttered in horror. “Hell has rose to the surface like Papa's bible said it would.”

“If Hell has risen once more, this is my time of testing. You must watch Orion for me.” Ezra announced, sliding off her dark horse speckled with light grey. It distantly resembled the constellation it was named after, due to three dots near it's hind quarters. In comparison to that lean war horse, Katya's chestnut mare was a spoiled pet. It spooked easier, but it was pleasant to members of the press. Orion mostly bit strangers that tried to pet him.

Today Cupcake's brown mane was done up in cute pink bows. The force of the winds was starting to undo Katya's handiwork. Frightened, the pampered work asset was starting to whinny and stomp. Shedding her familial wolf skin shoulder wrap, Ezra handed her the sacred coat of sorts. “Guard this. I must defeat the army hell spawn.” With that, Katya's partner ran into the swarm of fighting people.

Distressed, Katya got off her own horse and gave it a comforting neck pat. “Do not fret, my little cupcake. I will not send you into that nightmare.” The horse nickered, still at unease with a few tail swishes. Orion, another tall breed like Cupcake, was unaffected by battlefield noises. It started wandering off to search for grazing spots.

Fastening the wolf skin on to ward off the wet cold, Katya chased after Orion. Clucking her tongue, she called out “Here pretty horse. Come here!”

Orion was a rather vicious stallion to most, and didn't listen worth a damn. It strolled where it wished, Katya chasing behind slightly. Cupcake followed her own master, more cheerful once away from battle. The trio was two blocks away when Orion's reins were finally gripped.

“Bad horse. Not listening to me.” Katya chided, Cupcake snuffling her hair from behind.  
There was a Cadillac from work in the middle of the empty road, packed with frozen looking agents. Loki was along them, all pressed against the inner car heaters.

Rapping knuckles against the window, Katya waited for it to open. “Hello Agent Loki. Could you hold my horses for me? I don't want them getting killed in battle.”

“Agent Madison, help the lady.” Loki ordered, eyeing the fiery steed. It's ears flattened in threat as it snorted. “Thank you!” Katya thanked him before dashing off. A minute later, there was a cry of “It tried to bite me!” in English behind her. The tops of the local apartment buildings exploded with lightning far too often to be safe. Katya decided to detour down that street with a lovely bakery.

Taking a turn, Katya was slapped in the face with cold wind. The snow here was so thick it was piling up on window sills. At the centre of all this bitingly cold weather, was a man in long soviet overcoat. He was tossing aside the frost bitten body of Agent Williams.

“This town is inferior.” The partially iced figure grumbled in barely audible Russian. “I can't believe I was sent to this shit hole!” Agent Williams, Honda, and one other man were cast to the side of this probably killer.

Cautiously, Katya took off her circlet and approached. The weather calmed the second she was within 20 feet. The dangerous figure's cold expression warmed instantly as he acknowledged her. His once dead grey eyes warmed and shone with tears. “You're... You're alive. I thought... But I knew they didn't kill you in those experiments. I knew in my heart!”

“Excuse me?” Katya replied, confused as ever. She had been mistaken as a mother's love, a dead sister's warmth, and a long lost roommate. Pure love of any kind could make a person loopy. This was a new kind of weird.

“My lapushka, my little star, I never knew you would grow up to be so beautiful!” the dangerous stranger gushed, sweeping her into a hug.

“I'm sorry, but I don't know who you are.” Katya replied honestly, surprised she was lifted off the ground. The only other male tall enough to do this was her brother. This guy kinda looked like Ivan, but it was probably coincidence. There was likely lots of tall super powered people in Russia.

By now the three defeated agents were ignored, with Agent Williams barely conscious on the snowy concrete. The snow was almost completely settled, the furious rain of dark night starting to warm up. “Of course, you wouldn't, you were taken away so young... I'm babbling! I'm so nervous! They call me General Winter, but you can refer to me as Peter.” the villain offered, bowing deeply after a nervous smoky rasp of a chuckle.

“Are we supposed to know each other?” Katya offered quizzically.

“Yes... No. You... you have your mother's eyes and it's just... I'm trying to be so serious!” The man laughed again at himself, starting over. It was a sound he was obviously not used to making, rusty and broken. “You see, I'm your real –” A dozen taser rods stuck into the man mid speech. Paralyzed, he fell like a plank of wood. The necromancer agent and his crow companion quickly chloroformed and cuffed the guy where he fell.

“Alpha Threat detained on baker street, three injured.” Agent Tino, better known as Grave Walker under his public sponsorship, spoke into his radio. The crow danced in victory and pooped on Peter's shoulder. Not far away, a small horde of soviet zombies shambled about and waited for orders.

“Are those yours?” Katya asked nervously in clunky English. She was terrified of the living dead and woodland spirits, stories of her youth still very much alive.

“They're on standby, it's fine.” Tino grunted. He pointed to a reanimated super soldier cleanly missing a head. “Carry these guys, we're regrouping at HQ.” The dead monster lurched forward and obeyed, The two conscious men scared out of their minds at being lifted up by zombies. It was a most macabre chariot of nightmares.

This was without a doubt, the strangest day Katya had ever experienced.


	19. The Fallen

Matthew had ran off into the distance, after the most frightening car drive of all time. Only Matthews's snow boots could be heard on wet concrete. After that faded, there was nothing at all in unlit New Jersey City. Fighting and screams could be heard in the distance, towards work. There was only one problem, well... several problems.

Lars was as nearsighted as they come, not technically allowed to drive. Along with his right eye gouged out and covered in a stylish patch, his depth perception beyond five metres was crap. So it was that the third most powerful agent in New Jersey City became lost less then three blocks from work.

“Goddamn it Williams, We're supposed to be in a buddy system!” Lars cursed under his breath, lost in pitch wet black. His frustration with tonight, with getting cock blocked, it was directly converting to terrible rain. After a few minutes, a camping lantern lit the way to salvation. It was Agent Tino and the ever chatty Matthias.

Lighting a street lamp with his own power, Lars finally found his bearings. Gathering under the bigger circle of light, Agent Tino's heavy metal persona was ruined by the rain. His runny dark circles of eye liner gave the impression of crying ink. He seemed out of breath as he spoke. “Have you seem a bad guy, this tall, won't shut up? He won't stop teleporting, but I think he needs to see where he's going.”

“He sounds super German.” Matthias added, not bothered by the bad weather. It rolled off his glossy feathers, in big fat droplets. The raven was lazily perched on Tino's soaked shoulder.

“No I haven't, I can't see shit with all the lights turned off.” Lars shrugged.

“Well damn, I guess we'll have to circle back to –” Tino was cut off by a poof of air as a sword blade swung at his neck. A sopping wet soviet looking type with rain ruined brown hair jeered. He tried to stab at them all viciously.

“My prey finally appears, for I am the hawk that – AH MY FACE! MY FACE! GET IT OFF ME!” The attacker screamed mid monologue like a girl as Matthias made unholy noise and pecked at his glasses. Finally the bird flew off with the spectacles, screeching and cawing in raucous victory. Muffled shouts of “My shiny!” from the raven were heard by Lars.

Tino was less elegant than other agents. True to his Nordic metal roots, the man pummelled the soviet on the ground with his bare fists. “Stop talking! You're under arrest!” Each vowel was emphasized by another wet punch.

“I see you guys are busy. I'll head that way.” Lars noted, leaving the lamp post. Finally headed the right direction in the dark, Lars found an abandoned flash flight along the way. By now, the noise of the fist fight was completely faded. Amidst the patter of rain and intensifying wind, Lars's light settled on something horrifying.

It was his brother, looking semi-dry and very proper in a fine suit. He stood under a dark umbrella, his trademark hair fringe intact like always. “Hello, Lars.”

“Henri, you're out of prison.” Lars stuttered. The crazy psychopath was supposed to be locked up in a sea fort prison off the coast of Ireland. He was supposed to be locked up until he died of old age.

“Nope! Wouldn't I be surprised to find out _you_ were working for the wrong side?” Henri replied, already sounding unstable.

“Good behaviour?” Lars offered weakly. A second later he dodged a spray of gravel that exploded at him like bullets. A quick buffet of wind deflected most of the debris.

“You lying snitch! You turned the second they gave an offer!” Henri roared, always quick to anger after the death of their sister. He stomped, a small earthquake beginning to shake the city. “You sold out to get laid then, and you'd do it again!”

“Okay I can see how it looks that way. But, I was not going to rot in jail for twenty years!” Lars spat back, unrepentant about his life choices. He dodged two massive rocks as Henri ripped them out of the ground and hurled them. They smashed into a distant car with a crunch of metal.

“ **TWENTY YEARS!? I WAS SENT OFF FOR LIFE BASED ON TESTIMONY YOU GAVE! YOU SOLD OUT YOUR OWN BROTHER TO GET CONGICAL VISITS AND SHORTER TIME!** ” Henry was mad now, the ground beginning to shake violently. Glass was heard shattering all around as a nearby mail box fell over.

Lars had to get the furious sibling off the ground before he levelled the place. He tackled his brother's torso, Wrestling him into an over the shoulder power lift. Next he jumped as hard as he could, fuelled by the howling winds. He soared in a tall arc of a leap to the roof top of a building. It was at least ten stories up, the minimum distance needed to separate Henri from his power source. The considerably stronger blonde could pull energy clean out of the earth like a battery. It caused unimaginable damage via earthquakes.

Henri wasn't helpless up here either. There was plenty of rocks on the flat roofs. The brother could also fling pottery and glass, a common tactic when fighting dirty. Deflecting hundreds of projectiles with a funnel of windy armour, Lars had to shout over his own protection.

“IT'S NOT MY FAULT YOU BURIED A CLINIC ALIVE!”

“THEY DESERVED IT WHEN THEY KILLED EMMA!” Henri screamed, a thousand shards of glass flying right for Lars simultaneously. Several pieces made it through the now tornado strength winds. A few choice shards cut into Lars's skin, biting through leather jacket and ballistic gear.

Henri had always blamed the American healthcare system for failing their family. He couldn't see through his rage. He couldn't grasp that pancreatic cancer had a very high fatality rate in any country. Lars understood his baby sister was going to die long before the event. Beneath the haze of theft induced adrenaline and general smuttiness, Lars managed to keep face until the end. Only after the funeral had he allowed himself to grieve, shorting out the electrical grid.

There was no reasoning with Henri now, just like then. The apartment building they were fighting on was starting to rumble and shift. Lars released a peal of lightning and thunder with every bit of energy he had left.

White hot lightning exploded down from all the clouds in the city. Dozens of bolts struck cars, lamp posts, and roof tops. Like all the bolts before, they danced and bounced among all the satellite dishes after. It was as surreal as it was dangerous.

Used to having his eyes flashed after years of seeing it, Lars merely looked away. Henri was struck again, and again, and again, possibly a dozen times in a span of two seconds. The smoking reek of burning hair and fabric was thick. Dreading what he might see, Lars dared to peek between his fingers.

There Henri was, smoking and blackened with most of his hair on fire. The only part of his clothes left was some undergarments and... glowing hot grounding wires. _Fuck_. “You... You thought I didn't see that coming?” the younger brother taunted, laughing maniacally. He stood on shaky legs, taking aggressive steps toward Lars.

In shock, Lars pulled out the gun Matthew had given him in the car. “Don't you dare get closer! I'll shoot!” He couldn't aim for shit, not allowed guns as a nearsighted convict on unusual parole. Lars detested having to use the things at all.

“You couldn't shoot me in San Francisco. You won't shoot me now.” Henri jeered, socking Lars hard in the jaw. The pain radiated through Lars's heavily bleeding body. The gun was twisted out of his wet grip, the muzzle pressed to Lars's chest. “Good bye Lars. Enjoy hell for me.”

“I'll save you a seat.” Lars muttered venomously, staring coldly into his brothers steel grey eyes. The gun fired loudly. Lars braced himself for death. Death didn't come, but a howl of agony did. The gun had been sabotaged to explode backwards it seemed. The back of the firing chamber was missing entirely as Henri wailed Dutch curses and held his gaping bloody wrist.

“ **FUCK! THIS CITY IS GOING TO DIE! YOU'LL ALL REGRET –** ” Henri's words were cut off sharply. He gasped one more time, then fell to his knees and rag dolled to a side.

Matthew had known Lars wouldn't take a shot when it was offered, half blind and gun shy. He rigged the thing to explode from the start. Matthew had known how easily Lars was disarmed. “Oh sexy Mattie, you _are_ a godsend.” Lars gushed. Kicking over the still twitching body of his brother, the reason for his silence became clear. There was a massive exit wound out the back of his head.

Someone, somewhere, had assassinated Henri before he could destroy the city. “Thank you God.” Lars whispered, internally grateful.

00000

Toris looked through the night vision scope one last time to confirm his kill. Henri Van Den Berg, the greatest threat to America since 1976, was finally dead. “Thank the heavens.” he whispered.

“You're welcome.” Felix joked, cuddled to Toris's wet side. In contrast, Felix was bone dry and rather warm. Not even his pink angel wings were wet, an umbrella for Toris.

“Don't get too cocky, guardian.” Toris joked, packing up his sniper kit.

“At least I'm still shiny.” Felix pouted, his glorious wings ruffling in offence. “Who do I have to be so _mortal_ all the time and you don't?”

“I was dumb enough to lose my wings, is why. We need to keep you safe and protected.” Toris cooed, nuzzling his celestial companion of many centuries. The couple was actually assigned to keep tabs on Agent Loki, but the man had time locked himself into never dying. Thus, Toris was doomed to pretend being forty for before retirement every twenty years. This was always in pattern with Loki's career changes and flights of fancy. Matthias, a being from the old times, was just a bonus as he flew after his ancient boyfriend.

Despite what religion claimed, even angels got sick, injured, or deathly wounded. Things had not been great since 1943 for Toris. That had been when crazed Nazi scientists caught him and chopped his wings off for research. Since the incident, Toris had lost most of his own celestial glory. Angels that couldn't fly back to heaven had to rely on the spiritual health of the living to recharge.

“Should we rescue Maelstrom off the roof?” Felix offered, arms ready to carry his companion.

Toris shook his head. “He flew up there, he can get himself down. I need to check in at the base.”

“Oh so you can run into more bullets for humanity again?” Felix teased, getting ready to take flight as he held Toris bridal style.

“I would have revived eventually!” Toris bantered, holding tight onto his gun case. How many cities had they rescued, and would save again? Even the brunette didn't know anymore.


	20. Good Doggy

Gilbert was, as you could say, stressed. His invasion plan was taken over by that frozen bag of dicks called General Winter. So what if the guy could make winter conditions, was super strong, and immune to mind control. He was still a dick. The planned EMP attack had been way too late, and the troops were very simple. Gilbert's plan needed specialists and _good_ super humans, not bumbling apes with guns.

So, the albino man was very stressed. He and Angelique decided to leave the second that warrior woman started dicing up soviet soldiers like a cheese platter.

“Running was not in my contract!” Angelique complained, briskly jogging in her Italian cotton dress and sandals. She was an assassin of high taste from the golden towers of Monaco, a wonderland of gambling and underhanded trade. She didn't ask questions, much like War Machine and Puppet Master.

“General Moron wasn't supposed to hijack my plan either!” Gilbert snapped, throwing a look back. A good six blocks from the main battle, they had shaken off most pursuers. All but one had been tricked, a massive tan beast of long strides and long fangs. Gilbert was honestly surprised the SCFD had werewolves at their disposal. That disease had been eradicated in most of Europe since the 1930's.

“We aren't going to out run the wolf. Get the jump jet ready and I'll kill the bastard.” Gilbert ordered, turning around. He pulled out two short swords, a talented fighter trained by Roderich's old boss. “Come and get me you hairy bitch!” He taunted in the dark. Gilbert could see just fine, with night vision goggles strapped on.

The dot endlessly tracking them raced around a warehouse corner, a muscular bipedal monster when it stopped to pant. It was over six feet tall, with claws and a thick blonde mane under a dangerous toothy jaw. Eyes dark from the hunt focused on Gilbert, fluffy ears flat in warning. A single deep growl was all the warning the man was going to get.

He was fine with that much. Gilbert had the most dangerous power of all, cancelling out other powers. He could reduce a typical superhuman into a coward, generally not trained to survive without their abilities. The werewolves, if they had been induced and not born, were the same. Honestly how many pure werewolf bloodlines could be left after the last world war?

The werewolf charged, slamming into Gilbert with the speed of a small car. He rolled and deflected most of the force away, but his remaining flesh and bone arm ached from the impact. The werewolf snarled viciously, latching jaws onto the blocking metal arm. Being dragged and shook like a toy, Gilbert managed to use his belt radio.

“Did you find the jet!?” He yelled, managing to regain footing. Gilbert punched the wolf in the face with his free arm as he did so.

“Yes... Dear Gilbert, about our contract... I'm out. You see, I don't work with losers.” Angelique's voice crackled over the belt clipped device, entirely unapologetic.

A short distance away, the inky outline of a harrier jump jet was seen taking off from the street. “YOU BITCH! WE HAD A CONTRACT!”

“I have a schedule to keep, ambassadors to kill. You understand how business is.” The radio went dead after. Seething with anger at this failure of an evening, Gilbert screamed in rage. The werewolf was done wrangling him peaceably it seemed. Digging both clawed from paws into Gilbert's chest, the monster tore his arm off. The metal and wire extensions of his body hung above him, ragged grown over skin dripping blood on his uniform.

Screaming in indescribable pain and betrayal, Gilbert was only silenced when a mighty clawed paw slapped him into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The werewolf is Germany. It wasn't brought up yet but that's what happened.


	21. If You Could Read My Mind

Lars was in his old apartment in Stockholm. Looking over a picturesque marina, he smoked a cigarette and lounged in a wicker chair. None of this was real, a murky dream. Somewhere along the way to HQ, Lars had started bleeding a whole lot more than anyone should. “I wonder if I'm dead.” He mused openly to himself.

' _You're not dead. You're just sleeping._ ' Matthew assured him, omnipresent voice like always.

“Boss man, is that you? Peeping in on my dreams. Trying to see some dutch sausage?” Lars teased, knowing exactly who it was.

' _No, I... I'm sorry if I was intruding on anything._ '

Lars laughed and took another drag of his smoke. “No, you really weren't. I was just being nostalgic. I used to live here you know.”

' _It's nice. The detail recall looks sharp._ '

“You know, that's the weird thing. I used to have terrible memory recall... This whole controlling my dreams thing, definitely new.”

' _That's a side effect of being near me too long. I'm sorry._ '

“So... where am I now?” Lars talked to unreality as he finished off his smoke.

' _The hospital, second floor. I'm five feet away._ '

“Being vigilant by the bedside? I'm starting to think you like me.”

' _I do have an interest in your well being, but I'm actually in a hospital bed._ '

Lars's stood in in alarm. “What!?” he exclaimed, pulling on his leather coat.

' _Please don't worry about me._ ' Such meek words from Matthew, it was almost pitiable.

“You could have died and here I am, sleeping like a chump.”

' _I was medically dead for two minutes._ '

Furious, Lars prepared to leave his apartment and drift to an awake state. “Now I _have_ to make sure you're okay.”

' _Fine, be stubborn. But please don't look under the hospital gown. I'm kinda fat._ ' You could just hear the bashful chastity in every little telepathic exchange. Matthew was a living cinnamon roll of a man, and Lars wanted a bite more than ever.

“I'll be the judge of that.” Lars retorted, the last non-words before he woke. First there was light, ungodly light. What goddamn nurse didn't close the curtains? Next was pain in his abdomen, sharp and terrible. “Oh, maybe I shouldn't have woke up.” he groaned miserably. He could still feel painkillers in his system, but they weren't nearly strong enough.

' _Do I look okay? I'd look for myself but my body is sleeping._ '

With slight pain, Lars looked to his right. There Matthew was, snoring away under thin green covers. He looked cute as he clutched an extra pillow. “You snore like a chainsaw!”

' _I do not!_ ' The other denied childishly.

“You can hear what I hear, and I hear a chainsaw.”

' _You perceive I sound like a chainsaw, and that is a biased view point. I choose to hold the objective view point that I do not snore, and I do not fart constantly in the office. Because you fart all day in the office. A lot._ '

Lars chuckled, for the all knowing Matthew could be rather goofy. “I perceive that I do not fart in the office. It's your stupid Greek yogourt lunches getting to you.”

' _Greek yogourt is good for you!_ '

“Greek yogourt is good for _farts_. I'm lookin' under your paper dress.” Lars replied, sitting up. He burst into muffled curses, but managed to grit his teeth through the pain.

' _No don't!_ '

“Too late!” Lars taunted. Sliding off the bed and ripping out his IV tube, Lars winced with every step. The tile was cold on his bare bony feet. Cute sleeping moment aside, Matthew looked like shit. There was clear signs of frostbite on an ear and part of a hand. “What got you? There's a frost bite line all the way down to... oh my god.” Lars gasped upon lifting part of the blanket and the paper hospital gown. He dropped it gingerly and sat on his own bed. “Oh my fucking god.”

' _What is it? I'm not crippled am I?_ '

“No, It's... Christ. You're hung like a horse.” Lars muttered, in partial shock.

' _I told you not to look! I'm very insecure about my fitness!_ ' Matthew's ridiculous modesty shone through again.

In too much pain to move more, Lars lay on his hospital bed and rested. “You have no need to be concerned about that. You have... a lot of _confidence_ with you.” The dutch man blushed hotly, a new barrage of fantasies forming. The generous blessings of Matthew's body hadn't been taken properly into account before.

' _Stop that right now mister!_ '

“I can't help it!” Lars whispered, nurses starting to notice he was talking to a sleeping drugged guy.

' _Think of work, or kittens._ '

Lars didn't have a chance to respond. He rolled onto his side and tried to ignore how painfully bright the view of the outside world was. The nurse was not an idiot for once, clacking over on hard soled flats. She closed pastel yellow curtains, and turned to him.

“Look who's awake after surgery. How do you feel?” The nurse asked, feeling his forehead for fever. “You look a little hot.”

“Maybe. Can I have some painkillers and water? I feel like shit.” Lars asked dryly. “Maybe some food.”

“Someone was naughty and ripped out their IV.” The nurse nagged, giving his body a light frisk as he was slowly moved onto his back. After a quick peek at one long stitch on his upper chest, Lars was left to his own decency and green hospital sheets. “Everything looks clean. Do you need help to go to the bathroom?”

“No. I need drugs and the tube was itchy.” Lars repeated, despising being treated like a child.

' _You ripped it out like a brat._ ' Matthew teased, probably watching the exchange like it was a TV show.

The woman shook her head in disdain, but left right away. She returned with three white tablets, a small bowl of soup, and two cubes of orange jello. It was all set on a plastic tray that friction clipped to the bed. “Do you need help being fed?” She offered in the most pandering tone.

“No. Thank you.” Lars grunted, trying not to rip her head off. Finally the water showed up. He chugged the glass gratefully along with the drugs. Sweet sweet drugs! All the while, the nurse took notes on Lars's condition. She then pulled privacy curtains around Matthew and shrouded her work in mystery. Lucky woman, getting to feel up that hot body. Just seeing that gorgeous cock, soft in rest, was a treat. Typically ignored gay impulses flared to life over such a fine art piece.

' _Please stop it! Your enthusiasm for a singular part of me is getting distracting._ ' Matthew's humorous complaining was becoming endearing. It only confirmed that Lars was not in a one way connection. He grinned like the little demon he was, and conjured up the hottest sex act he could think of. No detail or sound was spared. Given Lars's decade of adventures across Europe, it was a pretty good rendition of many encounters in one.

' _I am so mad at you right now. You're an ass. You know that? You are the biggest ass I have ever met._ ' Matthew pouted now in Lars's head, and it was priceless.

Lars said nothing, sniffling his laughter by eating terrible soup with terrible crackers. The privacy curtain was pulled open and the nurse headed off to points unknown. Lars was pleased to see Matthews's unconscious face blushing fiercely. At least the former villain had a new way to torture his parole officer and crime busting partner.

After four long boring days trapped in the hospital, the boys were finally released back to work. There was no fanfare, greetings, or chatter as they entered the offices of the fourth floor. You'd think a city destroying crisis had never occurred at all. The parking lot was back to normal, perfectly clean of the bloodbath Ezra had supposedly left behind. There was a dense stack of papers waiting from the boys upon their return.

The Director had declared the “source” case closed rather suddenly. A dozen cold cases were dumped on their respective laps now, most of which was busywork. With Matthew's cheating levels of information gathering, and Lars's eye for fine detail, most cases were easy.

It was somehow impossible to keep concentration. Try as he might, Lars kept losing his train of thought. There was the faintest words and numbers he couldn't catch in his mind. They slipped passed as he tried grasp them, not of his making. It was on par with someone mumbling softly enough that you couldn't catch the context. Fearing he might be going insane, Lars finally searched for help after three days of getting nothing done.

Truth be told, Lars felt uncomfortable visiting the psychics a floor down. It was like a thousand eyes could peer into his soul, an electric weight on his brain. Lars needed answers all the same. Matthias was pestering Yao in his nice private office, the door wide open.

“If Benny Hill and Monty Python were in a fist fight, who would win?” Matthias asked loudly, cawing away like a great noise machine.

“Stop throwing pencils! You're nothing but a flying toddler!” the older Chinese man cursed.

“Oh look, shiny!” Much clattering and muffled fighting was heard inside as Lars passed by. He paused and considered his options. Yao was not psychic, despite being the manager of such things. He was the only guy down here besides Loki that couldn't read him like a book. Honestly, Loki and his painted animal bone collection was creepy.

Yao it was, in his normal office plastered with family photos. Supposedly he was a grandfather on both sides of his family, though you couldn't tell. He probably dyed his hair. Entering without invitation, Lars sat himself in a chair. “Hi Matthias.” He greeted simply.

The bird cawed with absolute lack of elegance, flapping and messing up Yao's desk. He flew out the door, shiny stapler in his clutches. “YOU OVERGROWN PIGEON!” Yao cursed, slamming the door shut. He settled at his desk, grooming a few stray hairs back into his glossy black ponytail. A cool glance was tossed in Lars's direction. “What do you want, I'm very busy.”

Lars cleared his throat, stumbling over how to approach the topic. “I'm hearing voices, but they're not mine... and I'm not crazy, I swear. It's just... weird?”

“I'll be the judge of that.” Yao snipped, as friendly as a box of needles. He took a strange silver amulet out of a desk drawer. Dangling it still on a thin chain, it began to spin as it was inched closer to Lars's person. “Well, that's interesting.”

“What is?” Lars asked, a little nervous.

“You're entangled.” Yao's simplistic terms were always puzzling. Glaring at Lars's blank expression, he explained himself further. “When a simpler being is caught in the influence of a powerful psychic source, the two can get all... tangled together. This only occurs when both parties are willing, or it's a very high exposure. A larger difference in power levels makes it last longer. It won't kill you.”

“So, uh, it won't kill me. That's cool. Will it go away?” Lars asked, not really understanding.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Yao sighed then tried again. This time it was a coin and a magnet peeled off a filing cabinet. “You are this coin. On your own, you are not psychic. This is a magnet. Pretend it's some psychic guy.”

“Okay.” Lars nodded, still confused.

“See the magnet affect the coin by moving it around?”

“Yes.”

“That's what someone is doing to you all the time, whether your aware of it or not. At this point it's like this for you.” Yao stacked three business cards together and made the coin move about on one side, the magnet opposite it. “The pull or influence is so common it's a link now, even when you're away.”

“Oh. _Oh_ , and I'm like a magnetized coin... but it's brain energy!” Lars finally clued in, not great with this stuff.

“Yes. Brain energy.” Yao deadpanned while unsmiling.

Lars leaned forward in great interest. “But will it go away?”

“Since this usually only happens in consenting conditions, it's easy to turn off. You have to stop thinking of the other person for a few hours. Try taking a spiritual cleanse. It's not hard.”

Taken aback by the news, Lars blew out a breath. He had a strong suspicion the person that caused this was not easy to forget. “That's all then?”

“Yes, now get out.” Yao ordered bluntly.

As Lars was being shoved out of the office roughly, he blurted out more questions. “But... but how do I test it? What is it like? Can I do stuff with it?”

“Try sending something back, or leaving me alone to work. I don't care either way.” With this sound advice, the door was slammed behind him. An idea came to mind instantly, energizing Lars. He went up a floor and raced into Matthew's office.

“You seemed excited.” Matthew mentioned, not looking up from his intense work.

“Kinda.” Lars replied casually, wiggling internally like a child over his next venture. He relaxed at his beanbag chair and plank of wood desk, pretending to work. Knowing damn well Matthew was a massive fan of Gordon Lightfoot, Lars thought about the band's songs as hard as he could. He even read lyrics off the back of a singles record cover.

_If you could read my mind love,_  
_What a tale my thoughts could tell,_  
_Just like an old time movie,_  
_About a ghost from a wishing well,_  
_In a castle dark or a fortress strong,_  
_With chains upon my feet,_  
_You know that ghost is me,_  
_And I will never be set free,_  
_As long as I'm a ghost you can see._

Sure enough, after only one verse, Matthew was humming along. “... Just like a paper back novel...” the barest bit of lyrics was audible off his tongue. Cackling internally like a movie villain, Lars didn't dare drop his poker face. Oh, Lars was going to torture Matthew with this entangling business. He was going to torture him _good_.


	22. In Bloom

Matthew had to be sick. After that one catastrophic failure of control when Lars kissed him, the wheaten blond had been toeing a tight line. Prior to that he had been virtuous for months. Why now? Why was these pervasive thoughts of lust creeping in now? They came with such subtle strength, a constant undertow. It all culminated to this moment.

He couldn't stop staring at Lars's fine hands, the pale bony fingers as they curled around a pencil. How soft were they, how gentle were they? How nice would they be carded through his hair? It was driving the reserved man to madness. There was looming issue he had been putting off ever since Dad died.

Matthew could stand being mentally lonely for years at a time, but his body was his greatest limiter. He could only go a year at most without meaningful physical contact. That time limit was fast approaching, coinciding the date Matthew visited Dad's grave.

There was a ritual of sorts to it all. Alfred would take the day off with him, to cuddle and watch cartoons. Between piles of junk food and remembering the past, they would visit the family graveyard and give lots of relatives new flowers. They were of course, some of the last living branches on the family tree. The Kirkland legacy was an unlucky one. Dad dying in a horrible car explosion was roughly on par, if a sad par.

Balling his fists until the knuckles flushed white, Matthew couldn't focus on work. It had been a week since he left the hospital, and his frost bite scars hurt so badly as they healed. A low voice interrupted his drunken mood, Lars standing before his desk. “What, what is it?” Matthew snapped, in a rare foul mood.

“You're crying.”

Mattie felt his face in shock and shame. Sure enough, a fat tear was running down an index finger. Of all the things to show, he wasn't allowed to show _this_. Not since... Not ever, ever again. Sniffling, Matthew tried to dab his eyes dry on a sleeve. “I'm... I'm not crying, it's allergies.”

Two gloved hands slid over his own, giving a squeeze. It was darkly funny how they were both afraid to touch with bare skin, scared to hurt people. Still, the touch was nice to an affection starved Matthew. “Of course it is. Let's clock out and get some ice cream.” Lars offered, green eye bright with attraction, hope, and a dozen other things. It was really hard to say no to such cute faces.

“O-okay.”

It was the first time Matthew had ever left work early ever. He felt like a kid escaping detention, some menacing teacher to catch him at any moment. Even parking his car at Lars's place, this didn't feel real. “This is so rebellious. I've never left work early before.”

Lars paused leaving the car, looking at him flatly. “Yeah, you're a real punk to society. Help me get my bunnies.”

“Okay... but why?”

Lars smiled large as he talked, more of an overgrown child than an ex-convict right now. “I'm going to your place, and we're going to have games. Fun, chocolate, stroopwafel, maybe some beers. It's going to be amazing!”

“I...” Matthew struggled to think of any reason why this could be bad, failing. “... guess we could do that. I am supposed to be keeping a closer eye on you.”

It was a quick trip to load Miffy and Money in the car via per carrier. Lars's white apartment was barren and sad without all the stolen art on the walls. Next stop was a strip mall not far from Matthew's apartment. It was rather busy today, so much so they had to park far from the shop entrances.

“So we should hit up the movie rental spot first, then get junk food. Today is operation cheer up the boss man.” Lars went on, obviously more excited about this. Matthew was mostly lost due to being out during work hours. It was a new and disorientating experience for the hardy worker.

“Okay, I guess?” Matthew mumbled, warily eyeing a group of rough looking men nearby. They leered back. “Come on slowpoke!” Lars dragged him along by the hand now. A gesture which was inherently good and a host of other words that shouldn't be explored. Blushing, he could feel the hostile stares from across the medium sized parking lot. Hopefully nothing would come of it.

Looking at movies together, browsing candy, all while chatting lightly. It was so saccharine and domestic. Matthew legitimately lost himself to the natural notions, his neutral shields dropping almost completely. Impulsively, he smiled and tugged Lars along to a neighbouring clothing store. It was a montage of fun and whimsy as they both tried on silly shirts and hats.

Finally the boys emerged from the clothing store, laden with bags of goods. “That was pretty fun. Thanks Lars.” Matthew spoke honestly, a little flush from laughing so much inside the store.

“No problem cutie.” Lars replied, as casual as ever. He was difficult to take seriously in novelty flamingo sunglasses. Matthew wasn't that far off, with a neon red fishing hat and fake bling chains.

“You know, if you want, we could maybe go out for dinner at –” A sharp pain cut off Matthew's words. He gasped a little from the pain, touching his stinging cheek. A finger came back bloody. “What the hell.”

“HEY FAGS! Why don't you fuck off and die!?” a rude voice shouted, belonging to a bulky fellow in a sports jersey. He was surround by at least four men, all equally cold and hostile. The sharp rock lay at Matthew's feet, evidence of this violence. The air was static and harsh in seconds as Lars gritted his teeth. The plastic shopping bags were starting to smoke in his hands, his mind radiating anger.

Matthew acted fast, not wanting a hurricane to rip up the parking lot. He marched up to the main rock thrower, and slapped him as an angry parent would. “Now listen here young man. That was very rude!” The jock was about to wind up a punch and express his own opinion without words. It never had a chance to be known.

A thunderous blast of lightning exploded behind the group, making everyone run or fall over. The sporty Jeep with no roof had not fared well from pure lightning. “My jeep! Dad is going to be so pissed!” one of the ruffians cried out in anguish. “Holy shit, it's on fire!” Another goon exclaimed. So it was, the Jeep's fake leather interior was beginning to roast, black smoke starting. Lars just grinned like a fool, pleased with himself in those damn flamingo sunglasses.

Scowling, Matthew tugged him back to their own car. “You'll get us in trouble!” he hissed fearfully, starting the car.

“I don't see what I did wrong. Cars catch on fire sometimes.” Lars was so proud of himself. It was a pride that had likely fuelling his thefts before a time of redemption. He truly couldn't turn down a dare. The fact that he tried to steal a button off Toris's shirt _while_ he was wearing it was evidence of Lar's shortsighted tendencies.

At least three blocks away from the car fire, Matthew finally relaxed. He parked and steeled himself for what in his mind, was a very difficult exercise. It took two stuttering attempts, but he managed to get the words out. “After we bring this stuff and the bunnies up to my apartment, maybe we could... could... go out for dinner.” The request at the end was almost a wheeze, for all the crippling shyness strangling Matthew.

“Well, I'm honoured to go on a date with you.” Lars swooned, kissing him on the cheek. Matthew's bravery from the parking lot withered and died as he blushed. The telepathic agent was flustered, unable to apply his usual logic to this _personal_ dinner. It was not a date, it was not. Matthew was just going to a special restaurant with a co-worker that wanted to sexually ravage him. Maybe... Maybe Matthew wouldn't mind a little sexual ravaging. God, he was so lonely and horny.

Matthew managed to not die of feelings falling out his head as they brought up the clothes, food, and bunnies. He was still a bright shade of pink from all those perverted thoughts in his head. He suspected much of this was background radiation off Lars. The guy was mostly lust and greed in human form, with a dash of compassion and pride. Some of the desire was definitely Mattie's own ideas though.

“So, how fancy is this place?” Lars asked, scoping out how much of his hands he could fit in his leather jacket.

“It's nice. You can steal the bathroom soaps, but leave the table stuff alone. I want to eat there again after this.” Matthew replied absently, offering a piece of lettuce to Money the brown bunny.

“Those kinds of people make me so mad.” Lars fumed, still not over the confrontation in the parking lot. He started dabbing dried blood off Matthew cheek as he ranted. “It's not fair that straight couples get to hold hands in public, and I... _we_ have to put up these faces and pretend to give a shit about stupid straight people stuff! In Stockholm, I didn't have these problems. America is the problem.”

Matthew honestly wasn't listening, putty in Lars's hands. The reserved man felt rather warm as he was tended to with soft touches. He sat obediently as Lars finally ruffled his wavy locks. A long dead sensation Matthew could recognize made his happy heart patter. He felt cared for and valued. It was a powerful feeling logic would never control or regulate.

Matthew supposed this whole dating business was not completely a waste of time.

00000

The date was going well, so very well. The restaurant was exceptional in it's service and polish. The intimate setting was truly secured when it was them at the table, a single rose in a vase lit by soft light. After a few glasses of wine, Matthew finally started opening up a little.

“This place was where my dad used to go, before the you know... thing.” Matthew rambled, looking rosy. His eyes were dark with attraction, his laughter light. “That salty old bird was a real romantic at heart. I guess I got that from him. At least his kids didn't get his eyebrows.” All the while, Matthew's fingers played with Lars's across the table.

“Your eyes are so beautiful.” Lars blurted out, feeling like a giddy teen. He actually hadn't planned for things to go this well. Drunk Agent Williams was a flirtatious creature, eating Lars with his violet eyes. If things went any smoother, he might even get some four star restaurant bathroom sex.

“Where's the food, and the wine? I want to get sauced.” Matthew complained, his lusty self more bold than usual.

“I'll see what's taking so long.” Lars volunteered, getting hungry himself. He left their private little booth, turned to where a waiter was getting water earlier, then tripped and fell. He landed with a wet smack on wooden floors, barely avoiding his new stitches. It still stung something fierce though.

Bewildered, Lars looked to see what the hell he tripped on. It was large in white and black, and it was snoring. Lars had tripped on not one, but two waiters slumped together on the floor. The water they carried had been dropped on the floor. Nearby, a soggy bunch of twenty dollar bills was still tucked in a bill booklet. Snagging these with care, Lars stood and assessed what was going on. He left the private booth section and walked into the more open areas. He had to hold in a burst of curse words.

Matthew had been right all along. With the slightest slip of control while tired, he could pacify a movie theatre or a restaurant. Lars knew this was true now, because Matthew had just knocked out a restaurant. Everyone had passed right out. A thick stream of black smoke was pouring out of the kitchen.

“Shit shit shit!” Lars muttered, racing to the kitchen. He grabbed a fire extinguisher, arriving in time. It was just a dozen steak dinners burning, and not the actual building. The chef was out like a light, curled up and napping on the floor. It seemed to be a standard defence for normal people's brains against Matthews semi-drunk state. With the fires killed and all gas appliances turned off, Lars realized something else even more awful.

If Matthew found out he had almost burned down his dead dad's favourite restaurant, he'd never eat out again. Guilt crippled the man more than a bullet ever would. Lars had to think of something. He was smart, cunning, _clever_. He had saved face in much tighter spots. A brilliant idea finally came to mind.

Grabbing two dinners waiting delivery, Lars returned to the table. “Here is it! Yum yum, right?”

Even half drunk Matthew knew something was up. “I didn't order chicken and mushroom risotto with side salad.”

Lars had no idea what the hell Matthew was talking about, but played along and switched plates. He handed the meatier looking dish to his hungry love interest. “Sorry about that. Have a fish.”

Matthew was nothing but happy noises as he dined on his grilled salmon. Lars shovelled a few exquisite bits of his own dinner, then hummed in bliss. The food here was amazing. It was a shame they had to leave any minute now. Lars had rigged the electrics in the building to overload and black out the place. A transformer burst outside after a minute, making a spectacular amount of noise.

Plunged into darkness, Matthew's date was over. Now it was time to get the hell out of here before utility guys came to investigate. “Boss man, let's go. I think a storm shorted out the building.” If drunk Matthew couldn't see the damages he causes, it absolved him of ever making them.

“Aw. The food is so good.” Eventually, a rather clingy Matthew conceding to leaving. He took his dinner with him. “It was so nice of the chef to give me an extra plate, and I get to bring it with me! They are so kind.”

“Maybe I shouldn't have made you drink so much.” Lars muttered, genuinely regretting his life choices. He didn't know Matthew was such a light weight. He didn't know Matthew had literally never drank in his entire life. Lars had assumed that was an exaggeration!

“It's fine. Being drunk is so much fun.” Matthew replied, cuddling his side affectionately. “Did I ever tell you how much you look like a pirate?”

“A few times.” Lars replied absently, hailing a cab. The cab driver pulled over, then immediately began clutching his head from a crushing migraine. Stage one of the passing out process was already in progress. That was a no to a taxi then.

Lars didn't have a choice now. “Matthew come here.”

“That's boss man Williams to you, Mister.” Matthew teased, standing before Lars regardless.

“Ready to go flying?” Lars asked, scooping up the lighter man bridal style. He was honestly nervous about flying around with a passenger. He had never done it before tonight.

“Oops.” Matthew muttered, dropping his dinner from surprise. It splattered beside them in a saucy mess of linguine and salmon. “Um, thanks for paying earlier. I hope this electric thing didn't cause them problems.”

Lars hadn't paid, of course. Matthew in his half drunk state hadn't bothered to check facts. Lars probably had three hundred dollars in his pocket from passed out patrons. “No problem cutie. Next stop home.”

With a mighty leap, winds made Lars arc high into the air. He jumped from one tall building roof to the next, landing with feathery soft care. He was starting to get the hang of this stuff. Matthew tittered drunkenly with his eyes closed, hanging on tightly. “Am I Lois Lane right now? I don't think I have hips to pull off a pencil skirt.”

“I am never getting you drunk again. Never ever.” Lars vowed.

Getting Matthew into his apartment was almost impossible. The wheaten blonde was nothing but clingy dead weight, happy to touch. Lars could feel the touch starvation and desperation in such gestures, merely the surface of lusty seas. God damn Matthew was horny! Lars was currently struggling to open Matthew's apartment door. His internal battle was getting rather _pitched_ , as was his pants. This was most due to Matthews numerous kisses and pressing cuddles.

After over six attempts with fumbling keys, the door was opened. Dragging Matthew inside, both deadbolts were hurriedly slid shut. Perfect kisses, soft and tender, became rougher. Matthew's obvious intentions were ever clearer.

It was a tangling race to the too small bed. Layers were hastily shed, tossed aside like scattered leaves. Lars was surprised at the strength Matthew could summon. Somehow the less experienced male had him pinned and splayed beneath. Lars was in nothing but money patterned boxers, still panting from making out. Matthew meanwhile, was in a thin tank top and red briefs.

A drunk Matthew hung over Lars, looking hungry for more then kisses. He froze up after a second, sitting back on his knees. The mattress complained, but no one cared. Turned a flustered shade, the bold bravado of before was gone again. “Oh... Oh no.” Mattie whispered.

“What's the matter?” Lars asked, holding Matthew's hands before he could hide in them.

“I... I don't know what to do. I'm not... I could hurt you from being so big, I'm... I'm sorry...” Matthew sputtered, starting into a spiral of self depreciation already. It was like metallic poison to Lars's senses, felt in his own mind distantly. The poor fool, unaware of the _blessings_ between his legs.

Lars chuckled and pulled Matthew close. He just needed a little reminder of his motivations. “You don't need to impress anyone. This is about me and you having fun! You can go as slow...” Lars assured him, kissing a cheek. He then wrapped long legs around Matthew's hips and rutted lightly. The evidence of of excitement was there in filled briefs, pushing against sensitive balls. “... or as fast as you want.”

Admittedly Lars was a little overexcited to get things moving. He was certain Matthew's cock was at least seven inches hard, and wanted every part of it stuffing him pleasurably. After four years of absolutely no action in isolated prison... He needed it.

Picking up where he left off, Matthew kissed Lars's neck gently. “And... You'll show me what to do? You won't laugh at me?” he asked shyly, cradling himself against Lars's lean body.

Lars nodded, too needy for words. Pawing at Matthew's clothes, the stud of his dreams was finally naked. Pesky boxers were also tossed aside in all the jumble. “First lesson is foreplay. It's... touching, and kisses... very important...” Lars rambled, reduced to his knees at the bedside.

He was entranced by that gorgeous erection before him. It was a mighty thing, thick and slightly curved. It was a healthy flush colour, almost sweet smelling from body wash. A healthy short bush of blonde hair surrounded it, rather soft to the touch. All of Matthew was slightly fuzzy, made for snuggling.

Nuzzling the cock in pure body worship, Lars kissed it in reverence. He suckled it, stroked it, lost to his ministrations. To his amazement, it wasn't even fully hard yet. An animistic moan snaked out of Lars as he began to stroke himself while swallowing as much as he could stuff in his mouth. Matthew let out a ragged groan and instinctively gripped Lars by the hair.

The shared link between then left Lars awash in pleasure. He could feel every suckle and squeeze Matthew felt, on top of his own masturbation. A stunning realization came to him as he took in another inch and let Matthew use him. Lars wasn't going to last worth a damn. He could feel everything, and Matthew could feel everything. They were stuck in a psychic feed back loop of pleasure. It was so hot and perfect, Lars was beginning to tear up with joy as his face was liberally fucked.

It was coiled hot joy in his guts, his bones, saturating his every cell. Lars could feel the end drawing close in record time, and he didn't have enough mind left to be ashamed about it. Still Matthew was the first to peek and come. Making basal moans, he shuddered as he came. There was so much to swallow, some of it splashed on Lars's still healing chest. Lars grunted as he achieved his own blinding orgasm, now lightly splattered in both their joy. Popping off, he gasped for air as his body turned to jelly.

Matthew helped him off the floor, onto the comically small bed. There they spooned, slowly recovering from their shared experience. It was like witnessing the fading colours of a glorious sunset, until there was only cotton clouds and dazzling stars.

“Telepathic sex is fucking amazing.” Lars whispered. He had been in all manner of sexy debacles across the entirety of Europe. Nothing compared to what just struck Lars sideways. Feeling Matthew's euphoria of his first blow job _while_ performing it was outstanding.

The thing was, this experience wasn't supposed to be about him. This was Matthew's virginity at stake. Gingerly Lars wrapped an arm around the other and squeezed in comfort. They were both filthy and a little sweaty, so hygiene was barely considered. “Did you have fun too?” he asked, memorizing every feel of his new lover.

“I had fun.” Matthew giggled, so sweet and innocent. He then yawned widely and snuggled tightly to Lars's side. “Sorry I got... _stuff_ near your chest stitches.” There was a weak attempt to pull the blanket over their resting forms. Lars's feet still dangled off the end of the bed.

“As long as your frostbite scars are okay.” Lars cooed, kissing Matthew tiredly with devotion. In minutes, they were both fast asleep. For once, Lars dreamed peacefully, in reach of the one he desired.


	23. I'm sorry :(

I'm really sorry, but this story is dead. It's been 8 months and I haven't so much as written a word for it. So... I'm just going to tell you guys what I was planning.

  * General Winter is Ivan's and Katya's real dad, but he's still pro USSR to the extreme.
  * He was going to convert his children to communism and steal them away in the night.
  * General Winter's crazy fucking plan is hatched when Prussia and General Winter are bored as holy hell in neighboring prison cells under the hero facility.
  * Katya falls for the scheme totally, but Ivan is skeptical.
  * Alfred reprises his role as an American hero icon to defeat General Winter in very public fashion, then retires with grace.
  * Katya's communist brainwashing wears off (a super power effect possibly) and she feels immensely guilty.
  * The cow Katya cared for since she was little IS the genetic super soldier experiment. It's milk was what gave Katya and Ivan powers.
  * Prussia realized this while stewing in prison with General Winter.
  * He hatched his own crazy scheme to steal the fancy cow for his secret schemes.
  * One epic jail break/fight later, Prussia escapes while General Winter is killed in combat. (end of the general's plot arc)
  * Prussia actually steals the cow, realizes his cult like followers have turned on him.
  * Prussia appeals to Ludwig, his long lost brother and last earthly connection, to take over the world.
  * The offer is super rejected, as you'd expect.
  * He kills the cow in rage to consume the power via dinner.
  * Prussia's plan appears to be a success, and he is on the verge of killing our heroes.
  * His power ends up being charming to birds. Not all powers are winners.
  * He rots in prison forever, but he gets to keep a few Gilbirds as pets. (end of prussia's plot arc)
  * Ivan and Katya feel shitty about letting General Winter manipulate them so much.
  * The super hero organization changes from Toris's command to Matthew's.
  * Toris (an angel) finally finds and reattaches his wings that were sawed off 70 years ago by crazy Russian scientists.
  * Toris and Felix can finally return to heaven after Toris restored himself. (end of that plot arc)
  * After a fluffy office scene with Netherlands and Canada, scene cuts to Prussia in prison.
  * Prussia's bird charming powers are seen affecting Denmark (bird shape shifter), mind controlling him.
  * Cue ominous cliff hanger ending as mind controlled Denmark leaves the prison cell area.




End file.
